


The paths untraveled

by Stateless



Series: The Paths Untraveled [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stateless/pseuds/Stateless
Summary: Among the great struggles of man -good/evil, reason/unreason, etc. – there is also this mighty conflict between the fantasy of Home and the fantasy of Away, the dream of roots and the mirage of the journey.Salman Rushdie, The ground beneath her feet.***The story starts one year post-finale, and explores the ways Brian and Justin find their path.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AHS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHS/gifts).



> After many years as a reader, this is my first fic ever. It just wouldn't let me go. So I put pen to paper to write a short drabble, and this is what I ended up with. Oops.  
> Thanks to all the beautiful writers, artists and fans whose work entertained me over the years in this fandom and others (looking at you, Glee and Teen Wolf fandoms!). Thanks above all to AHS, whose beautiful fics in this fandom rekindled the urge I had always felt, but long abandoned, to write. It feels good. I sure hope it will for anyone who reads this.
> 
> Edit: thank you so very much to AHS for the retroactive beta! All remaining errors are obviously mine.

Brian- **New York, February 2006**

 

“Hey, how was your meeting? Did you manage to woo them with your brilliance and incredible talent?”

Brian smiled as he entered his hotel room. He’d made sure to leave word at the reception to let Justin in if he arrived before he was finished with his prospect. He’d purposefully ask Cynthia to set the meeting on a Friday, in order to spend time with Justin on one of his rare shift-free weekend, but he was sure as hell not going to spend it in the humid, cramped and roommate-full dump of an apartment Justin presently called home. He had projects that required a large, comfortable bed, thick walls, excellent water pressure, and room service.

He set his briefcase on the table and made his way to the blond man sitting on the sofa, sketchbook on his lap. He was always pleasantly puzzled by the level of unabashed confidence Justin had in him, in his capacities; it wasn’t the wide-eyed, lust-stuck adulation of a 17-years old anymore, but rather a deep, grounded faith in him.

“Yeah, we’ll see. They liked the proposal. Well, I guess they didn’t expect anything groundbreaking from an agency heeding from the Pitts, therefore they were quite taken aback by my pitch”, he chuckled smugly. “Anyways, I should hear from them on Monday.”

At least, that was Brian’s hope. With this account, the expansion might become a distinct possibility instead of a far-fetched dream.

“I’m sure they’ll be all over themselves to sign with Kinnetik ASAP. I mean, who wouldn’t be?”, Justin said with a wide grin and a wink.

_Again with the confidence._

Yet Brain couldn’t repress a pessimistic thought to permeate his brain. If this contract fell through, or any of his other prospects here or in Pittsburgh, it could be months, _years_ before the expansion could be achieved. 

Things were going great between them. But he couldn’t help expecting the other shoe to drop. It always did, didn’t it? Each and every time they’d reached a point like that in the past, something - Prom, Hollywood, New York City - had come through to stand between them. And Brian couldn’t stand for it to happen again.

He looked up and realized he’d zoned out while Justin had still been speaking.

“…more often in the city, maybe sometimes for a week at a time? “

Justin’s eyes were sparkling, and his hands were fluttering as he spoke. Brian loved it when Justin couldn’t repress his excitement over something, and this time, he smiled internally, it was about the prospect of getting to see more of Brian’s.

But again, the nagging voice of _what if it doesn’t go through_ returned.  Could they keep going on like that? _Would_ they be going on like that? How long before he fucked up again and forgot to return a call, or send an email, or before Justin made his big break and became too absorbed in his work to be able to make time for him? Would Brian be able to go over his insecurities and pull the weight for the both of them, or would he cede to his inner sirens calling ‘ _you’re pulling him back’_ and let go of him?

He felt a hand on his neck and down to concerned blue eyes and a slight frown on Justin’s brow.

Fuck, he’d zoned out again.

“Brian? You okay?”

Lost in his lover’s eyes, he scrambled with his thoughts just a tad too long and the frown deepened.

“Bri, forget what I said. I don’t want to push you, you know?” Justin’s hand left Brian’s neck to make its way to his own, where it fluttered nervously. “I… I know you’re trying hard, and… it’s just… what we have is great, and thinking I could get to see you more, it’s…”

Brian kissed him, hard and deep. He knew at that moment - he’d known the second Justin had said ‘ _yes’_ a year, a lifetime ago - that he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let go of him again. Deb had been right all that time, he thought bitterly. He’d refused to acknowledge it out loud then, stubborn, prideful moron that he was, but the little twat had managed to slip in under the wire and had made a home there.

And Brian wouldn’t push him out again. Sure, he’d let him go if that was what Justin desired, but he wouldn’t push him. That meant he had to make it work; for Justin, but also, selfishly, for himself. No more self-sacrifice.

Releasing Justin’s mouth with a gasp, he muttered cockily,

“Well, if the prospect of enjoying my presence in New York City doesn’t seem such a burden to you,” Justin bit his jaw playfully in reaction, “I might be convinced to make it a permanent arrangement”.

He watched as Justin’s eyes widened slightly, and his trademark sunny smile appeared on his lips.

“…What? … seriously, Brian? You’d move to the city?”

Brian smirked, but he hoped his eyes conveyed his humor as he replied in a serious tone

“Well, an up and coming ad agency has to be represented in the country’s most thriving advertising scene, now doesn’t it? It’s just smart business.”

Justin giggled, then smoothened his features in something resembling a serious, business-like expression

“Yes, of course, an expansion would only make sense strategically, to expand your clientele and ground your image. I wouldn’t expect anything less from such an avant-garde, creative agency as Kinnetik.”

Justin’s glee had crept back in his expression as he spoke, and Brian had to reign in his own smile. He folded his lips and declared pompously

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to leave an open field to the competition, now would we?”

This time, Justin’s laughter rang loud and clear in the room and Brian _had_ to kiss him again. They still had a full 40 hours Brian before had to catch his flight back to Pittsburgh, and he intended to make good use of it. He’d start crunching the numbers (again) with Ted, and planning the strategy with the team first thing Monday morning, he thought, before his mind was filled entirely by the feeling of Justin’s body again his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire story is done, so I'm just posting it as fast as I can. It should be completely posted in the coming hours or days, pending on real-life events.

**Brian- Pittsburgh, February 2006.**

 

He should have known. For fuck’s sake, he _had_ known. He’d known not to be optimistic, he’d known the competition was tough, but he’d let himself believe he could have it. And the universe _had yet again_ made sure to remind him that nothing had ever been nor ever would be easy for Brian Kinney.

Sixty-three hours. He’d had sixty-three hours to enjoy his fantasy before the Universe had delivered its latest dump on Brian’s life, in the form of a polite call from NYC declining his campaign proposal.

“Fuck!” he muttered as he carded his fingers in his hair, mussing it beyond repair. He felt like throwing something.

“Brian? When should I expect the contracts to arrive?”

Cynthia.

Fuck, he thought again. Obviously, she’s known when she’d transferred the call. And obviously, she was among the deluded ones, too, to have believed in him and not have expected the glaringly predictable outcome.

“Tell Theodore to bring his ass over here ASAP, please, and no call for the next hour”, he snarled into the monitor.

No need to explain what had happened, she’d know by his tone. And no need to specify ‘except for Justin’, she knew that already and would have ignored such an order anyways. _Because she’s way too involved in my personal life, as half of the people around me_ , he thought with annoyance mixed with a tinge of… fondness. _U_ _gh_.

Before he could dwell any further in the lesbianic analysis of his feelings regarding his colleagues-slash-friends’ nosey interest in his life, Ted appeared in his doorway.

“You wanted to talk to me, Boss?”

“Come in, Theodore, and close the door”

Ted did as instructed and sat in the leather chair on the other side of the desk.

_No need to pull the punches here._

“The Cuyburn account fell through. They went with Kennedy & Collins. They loved our proposition, but they wanted to deal with a New York-based agency”.

Ted’s eyebrows had risen at the first part, before furrowing at the justification.

“I take it they didn’t reconsider when you told them you were planning to open an office in the city?”

 _If only it had been that easy, dear Theodore_ , Brian mused with a sharp stab of anger at his would-be client.

“They said they’d be willing to reconsider and discuss a follow-up campaign _if_ I ever made the move”, Brian said sarcastically, seething at the implication of failure he’d heard in his contacts’ voice, “but they don’t want to tie themselves with an agency that might never do so.”

“And the move depends on getting more city-based clients like them”, Ted completed, seeing his frustration.

“Exactly. That’s why we have to go over the numbers again, Theodore. Find me a way to make it work in the short term, or at least long enough for me to garner new contracts and make it profitable in the long term.” Brian fixed his accountant straight in the eyes. “Remember a couple of years ago, when you told me it was too early? That we had to make sure our growth was sustainable before expanding?”

Brian was sure Ted could not have forgotten how’d he followed his advice and ‘indulged’ in Babylon… which had incidentally been an astute investment as well as his own personal _Fuck you_ to the PC establishment if the club’s revenues and large profits showed anything. It would never bring the lost lives back, he knew, but he club’s success had to be the most grating, galling queer finger in the face of the demented hatemongers who had bombed it.

“Now’s the time, Theodore.” Brian continued. “We can’t wait to have the accounts to expand anymore, because we simply won’t _get_ the accounts if we don’t put troops on the ground. We can’t play it safe any longer. Kinnetik needs to have an office in New York if we ever envision to be more than a promising agency in the middle of fucking nowhere, Theodore. If we want to play ball with the big boys, we need to bring our balls to the game.”

 _Real and fake both_ , he thought snidely to himself.

Ted had nodded during his rant, but he couldn’t quite meet his eyes now. Brian saw him take a breath, square his shoulders and look nervously anywhere but at his face.

_I won’t like what he has to say._

“Brian, I know New York has been on your radar forever,” Ted met his glare then, “and that you’ve always said you’d make a career there…”

Brian thought he’d bring Justin up. Surprisingly – and thankfully, Brian thought – he didn’t.

“…but I’ve been over the numbers again and again, Bri. We’re short by a couple accounts at least, and big ones at that. We wouldn’t last six months in the conjuncture, and even for you that would be too short to pull a miracle. You’d endanger the entire agency it you didn’t pull it off.’

The look he gave Brian was one of regret, but also of resolve. Brian knew Ted was aware of exactly how important the agency was for Brian, on a professional and personal level, and what was at stake besides the agency itself. He was aware, without needing the reminder, that the move was more than a professional matter for Brian. But he was also a cunning accountant, and Brian trusted his judgment. Ted wouldn’t let him risk everything out of recklessness without a fight.

He took Ted’s words in before he asked.

“How much, Theodore? How much money do we need to set it up without risking Pittsburgh?” He had to make it work, _dammit_.

Ted was silent an instant, visibly pondering his answer.

“A couple of millions,” he finally replied. “It would bring the necessary cash flow to the New York branch without putting too much stress on the company’s accounts here.”

Brian reclined back in his chair and raised his eyes to the ceiling. A couple of millions, he thought. Not that big of a deal for a company that had brought several times that sum over in revenue the past year, yet too much to just throw caution to the wind. He searched his mind for a solution. A bank loan? The interest rates were too high, and Ted would object to it.

His eyes fell to the Justin Taylor Original on the far wall of his office. He’d hung it there so that anytime he needed to remind himself of the reality of his relationship with Justin, he would just have to glance up.

_Oh._

A fleeting, unfinished thought came to his mind.

“Theodore, what if I managed to bring 2M$ in cash?”

Ted looked at him in surprise, and something akin to apprehension.

“Well, yes, I’d have to plan with the lawyers and such, but I think I could have a New York branch run for at least a year. It would give you time to bring in the accounts. But, Bri…where do you plan to find two. Millions. Dollars?”

Brian simply smiled.

“Thank you, Theodore. I’ll see you later for the team meeting.”

Ted took the dismissal for what is was, and left with a wary backwards glance.

Brian’s gaze fell again on the painting. As much of Justin’s latest art, it was an abstract piece, but anyone versed in his work and in their lives could see behind the wide strokes of brown and golden mixed with the blues and yellows. It was them, right there, laid on the canvas for all to see, as intertwined in the painting as they were in life. Darkness and light, shadows and brightness, intimately twisted and bonded together though distinct and separated.

Was it worth it, Brian thought. Was it worth sacrificing a dream, a hopeful future, to take a risky jump and make another one come to fruition sooner?

Maybe there’s another way, he resolved, and it won’t have to come to that.

_I may yet again have access to my fair mistress.  
_

He pushed on the intercom on his desk.

“Cynthia, I need you to research start-ups and recent companies in New York. The promising ones, and those who don’t yet have an agency attached, please.”

When the affirmative reply came, he took a breath, glanced at the painting again, and with a shake of his head, started perusing the layouts for their client’s latest miracle cream.

 Maybe he could have both.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might recognize the name of the firm where Brian was offered an interview in 121. This will not be the last reference to canon in the story.  
> Brian's quote is from Shakespeare, The taming of the Shrew, act 1, scene 1. He's seen quoting literature in the show, and it's my headcanon that he took English Litt at some point, so I tried to reference that, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Justin -  **New York City, mid-February 2006.**

 

“Later”

“Later”

Justin hung up his phone and looked at it pensively. Brian had been strangely detached for the past couple of weeks, ever since his return to Pittsburgh. Nothing drastic, though, nothing like it had been for a time, after his first couple of months in the city, when Brian had tried to pull his trademark ‘push-Justin-off-a-cliff’ stunt and Justin had had to go back to the Pitts over a weekend to kick his butt back in line.

Brian didn’t avoid him, per se. He still called, and took Justin’s calls whenever possible. They still exchanged emails, and text messages, and they still had smoldering phone-sex that let them both spent and breathless. Brian still let his inner geek flag fly high whenever he replied ‘I know’ to Justin’s ‘I love you’, and Justin still knew what he meant by that without a doubt.

In his recent conversation with him about _Rage_ , Michael had let slip that Brian was so busy with work he’d skipped their latest Friday night in Babylon. So it wasn’t about an overabundance of drinking, drugs or tricks. In their weekly call the day before, his mom had gloated about her latest lunch with her favorite almost-son-in-law, and Deb had sent him a picture of the entire family - minus Gus and the girls - last Sunday, with a smirking Brian holding a scowling Hunter in a headlock. So it wasn’t about avoidance either.

Still, something was going on in his lover’s handsome head, he knew, even if he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint exactly where the feeling came from.

Of course, Brian missed Gus, and probably Lindsay as well, but they were all planning to get back to Pittsburgh over spingbreak in a few weeks.  And Justin knew for a fact that Brian missed him too.

_How things have changed_ , he mused, that Brian now admitted freely - if infrequently - such a natural emotion.

Things were good between them, better than good considering the distance between them. But, _Christ_ , how he’d dreaded the move.

The morning of his flight, he’d almost dropped everything in the lobby to come back running in Brian’s embrace. He was glad he hadn’t woken him up, that Brian hadn’t lifted his head when he’d opened the door, or he couldn’t have done it. But he had. And he didn’t regret it one bit.

Still, it was hard. Beside the reality check he’d had to give Brian (“You won’t pull anymore bullshit act like that, Brian, you hear me? I love you, and we’ll make it work” he’d shouted; “Ok, I promise”, Brian had replied, and that was that), and the fact that he was missing him like crazy, life in New York City was fucking _hard_.   No one had waited for Justin Taylor, artist extraordinaire, to show up and turn the city’s art scene upside down with his genius. Peddling his art around in the galleries and shows in between his shifts at the restaurant was proving challenging.  Not mentioning getting around to producing art, when he was bone-tired after a long service, in his cramped, cold room, when the fucking boiler in his hole of a building had broken yet again, and he was faced with the equally disgusting alternative of taking a cold shower or going to bed smelling of marinara sauce.

He had been happy and relieved when he’d found the job at _Scala’s_ , especially as it was close to his apartment and the salary, while low, was decent. He blessed his mother for the smile she’d gifted him with, and Debbie for the practical training, as both had played a major part in him not only getting the job, but making good tips too. And they’d fast been needed, as the check he’d had for the defunct movie had dwindled _fast_ and the revenues from the comics hadn’t covered the ridiculous cost of living in Manhattan.

He had vehemently refused Brian’s proposal of paying the rent for him, but at some point in the past three months, he had grudgingly accepted his help for painting tools, canvas and colors.

“That’s the entire point of you leaving, Sunshine,” Brian had said, “so at least allow me to make sure my investment in your education is fruitful”.

Justin has relented, with the promise of a full refund when he would become a big fat success. Brian had smirked and assured him that he’s gladly play kept-boy when the day came.

Knowing that Brian was with him in his endeavor, and was ready to pull his weigh in their relationship was an incredible relief. It was both freeing and exhilarating, and it made things easier on his mind.

Beside the amazing phone sex, they had conversations. Nothing earth-shattering or worthy of a Nobel Prize, but actual, honest open conversations about their days, their thoughts, their projects.

Justin loved that Brian told him about Kinnetik’s projects and inner workings, and he felt like he could contribute with ideas and they would be valued. He also loved that he could share his doubts and insecurities with Brian about his chances to break through, and to hear him provide thoughtful, solid advices instead of void reassurances or meaningless compliments about his talent.

He’d been afraid his art would suffer from the move. So much of his inspiration stemmed directly from his deepest emotions that he was somewhat surprised when his first canvases after the move hadn’t been drowned in the despondency, gloom and frustration he felt at having to sacrifice being with Brian to make his way into the art world. Sure, some of his works did reflect these feelings, but most had an optimism and a hopefulness to them that paralleled his core belief that things would work out this time.

“it’s only time”, Brian had said, and Justin clung to it like a lifeline. 

He was interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Jus? Want some of my Pad Thai?”, Josh called through.

“Sure, I’ll be right here”, he called back.

He rose from his bed to put his workpants on for his shift, and resolved to have a chat with Cynthia if things still felt off in the coming days.

With that thought, he joined his roommate in their tiny kitchen to grab a bite before work.


	4. Chapter 4

Brian- **Pittsburgh**.

 

“Later”

“Later”

Brian sighed after hanging up and passed his hand over his face. He craved a joint, or a glass of scotch, and his bed, but a look at his desk told him he still had a couple of hours before he could leave. Then he would have to make an appearance at Babylon, if only to make sure the new DJ was keeping Liberty Avenue’s finest and most decadent queers happy. _Happy patrons are drinking patrons._  

Maybe once there he’d see some new face ( _ass_ ) and get some much-needed relief in the form of a blowjob before calling it a night. It would be sub-par, of course, not what he really craved, but it would take the edge of his nerves and maybe help him forget for a second.

He knew Justin was sensing something. He hadn’t said anything, and Brian had made sure to not let on anything, but by now they could read volumes in each other’s tone, and Justin had to have heard he wasn’t as engaged in their conversation as usual.

Justin had asked, of course, for the Cuyburn account, and he’d hidden his disappointment well, with a simple “We’ll just have to wait for the next one, then”, and he hadn’t pushed since. Brian was for grateful for that. He hoped he had some time to try and find another solution, but he knew it had to come soon, or he’d have to come clear to Justin.

He cleared his throat before pressing the intercom.

“Cynthia, before you leave, could we review the prospects in New York? And please tell the Art Department that I need the anti-aging cream’s campaign corrections on my desk tomorrow at 8 am or I’ll have their balls. Use those exact words, please.”

“Sure thing, Boss. Anything else?”

“If Theodore hasn’t left to play house with his partner, would you tell him that I need to see him for a second?”

They spent the next fifteen minutes going over potential clients, and when Cynthia left with instructions to set meetings, she passed Ted making his way in.

“Brian? What can I do for you?”

“Theodore, I just wanted to discuss a private matter with you.”

“Private?” Ted gasped, his face turning pale “Is it Justin?”

Brian rolled his eyes.

“Now, Theodore, no need to put your tits in a twist or work the grapevine to set an intervention. Sunshine is okay, and, before you ask, so is my health.”

Ted did look relieved at that, and Brian had to refrain another eye-roll.

“I won’t keep you too long for tonight. I wouldn’t want Blake to think bad of your boss”, he smirked, as he braced himself. If he’d been able to entrust Ted with his cancer secret, he could do it with the present issue.

“I need you to contact a certain number of people for me, and to not peep a word of it to any living soul.”

“Under threat of unimaginable torture including but not limited to the ripping of my balls, I imagine?”

 “You’ve got that right.”

Brian smiled menacingly a second more, before exposing his plan. Ted’s protests were silenced with a single eyebrow raise, and the accountant left with the promise to bring answers as soon as he could.

An hour and a half later, as he was about to turn off his computer, Cynthia buzzed him.

“Brian, just to let you know, I’ve managed to set the three meetings we discussed at the date you wanted.”

Brian let his smile sound in his voice as he replied, “efficient as usual, Dear”, and was rewarded with her pearl of laughter and a haughty “as usual, Boss.”

He wished her good night and grabbed his coat to make his way back to the loft.

While he changed, he sent a message to Justin.

**_I’ll be in NYC for meetings in 2 weeks. Any chance I could get a private interview with my favorite artist?_ **

Justin was working his shift at the restaurant, so he wasn’t expecting a reply for a few hours. With a smile on his lips, he made his way to his car, en-route for an inspection of his dominion.


	5. Chapter 5

Justin -  **New York, early March, 2006.**

 

Justin left the restaurant in a hurry. His shifted had dragged on longer than it was supposed to, and if he wanted to clean up before meeting Brian, he had to rush.

Justin couldn’t wait to finally see Brian. A month had passed since he’d last held him close, smelled his neck, licked his collarbone, felt his body tighten under his hands…

“Hey, watch out where you’re walking!”

Justin startled at the rude shove, mumbled an apology and shook his head to clear it as he resumed walking. Still, he couldn’t help the skip in his step as he made his brisk journey up the five blocks to his flat.

Once he’d finally climbed his way to the apartment, he yelled “Hi, Josh!” before making a beeline to the bathroom. He just _had_ to get rid of the smells of bolognese and fried scampi that seemed to always permeate his hair and skin. The shower didn’t do much to calm his jitters, but at least the water stayed lukewarm long enough for him to wash thoroughly.

Back in his room, a look around pushed him to pick a few pieces of laundry and throw them in the hamper. There was no way he could put any order into his art and his supplies, though, as the easel alone barely fit into the room and his last completed works took the small remaining space entirely. _How naïve I was to think I would find any affordable studio space_ , he thought. Brian would probably not even see the room anyways, and Justin would not pass the opportunity to enjoy a couple of nights in a hotel room where he could actually walk more than three feet and bask in a big tub, with the added benefit of getting to enjoy the sexiest body known to man.

Justin threw a couple of t-shirts and other necessities in his messenger bag, and grabbed his drawing pad. If opportunity arose, he wanted to finish a sketch of Brian he’d started during their last weekend together. Right before he left the room, his eyes fell on his art book. He opened it, leafed rapidly through the pages and added it to the contents of his bag, in case Brian was interested in seeing the pieces he expected ( _hoped_ ) would be part of an upcoming show.

When he finally arrived at the Marriott’s an hour later, the receptionist gave him the room’s keycard, letting him know Brian had yet to arrive. Signs of his presence were already in the room, though, as he’d obviously made at pit stop there before his meetings. Justin couldn’t resist putting a light hand on the beautiful Armani suit hanging in the open dresser and bringing the soft material to his face to breathe it in.

He couldn’t wait to tell Brian about his latest foray in the wild, cruel world of New York City’s finest art galleries. A _year_. It had taken a year before he’d even been allowed to open his book for a gallery owner before being rejected; the previous ones hadn’t even let him reach that stage. Whatever Lindsay had thought, a good review from the notoriously bitchy Simon Caswell, cunt extraordinaire, and a couple of drinks with a scout for the Resnick gallery during a ‘promising young artists’ show in fucking Pittsburgh hadn’t opened the doors wide for him. Nor had her recommendation letters and calls. As Caswell had mentioned, everyone thought that Warhol was the only exception to the ‘Pittsburgh sucks’ rule.  _Good thing I’m a persistent little shit, to quote Brian_ , he thought.

So, a year of polite nods and smooth rejections, and he’d finally had a positive contact. Granted, nothing was done yet, and the gallery was recent and in Brooklyn, with a small clientele as it was. But Justin had immediately liked the owner. Though Asian and even smaller than Daphne, Ms Lin reminded him of his best friend, with her easy smile, sparkling eyes and no-nonsense attitude. She’d loved the pieces he’d shown her in his book, and she had seemed to take up with him on a personal level, too. He was supposed to bring her the paintings sometimes the next week, to evaluate in real conditions, and if she liked what she saw, she’d try to display a few in an upcoming show. Justin was stressed and hopeful, but mostly, he was elated at the prospect of finally getting to show his work.

Just as he was about to grab his pad to pass the time, he heard the buzz of the keycard in the door. He smiled to himself, but didn’t move from where he was in front of the tall windows. He heard the slight thud of Brian’s briefcase on the desk, the swish of a coat being thrown on a chair, then silence. As he was about to turn around he finally, _finally_ felt two strong arms circle his waist, and Brian’s head find its way to his neck. Justin closed his eyes and breathed in - Boss cologne, a tinge a cigarette smoke, tea-tree shampoo, _Brian_ – and murmured “Hey”. He took a second to brace himself against the onslaught of emotions he would feel – he always did - at the first sight of Brian, then turned around, a wide smile on his face, to properly greet his lover.


	6. Chapter 6

Brian- **New York City.**

 

Brian looked at his watch as he exited from the building. 6:15 pm. Justin was supposed to end his shift around 4 pm, so they would probably arrive at the hotel at the same time, if the Friday night traffic wasn’t too bad. Brian hailed a cab, and after he’d given the address to the driver, finally relaxed. He leaned his head on the headrest and closed his eyes, trying to put order to his thoughts.

His last meeting had been the easiest. He’d met with the cofounders of a new fashion company, two thirty-something designers who’d left their previous employers to take their chances by themselves. Brian had liked their upfront attitude and their ambition – and he’d felt somewhat of a connection with their initiative to take their fate into their own hands, as he’d done himself. Lisa, a blond, tall woman, reminded him of Lindsay. All WASP-y politeness and manners, but the backbone of a lioness and a strong grasp on her goals and needs. Doug, her partner in the firm, was flamboyantly gay, and his beautiful features and slim figure complemented his striking dark skin and easy smile.

Both had appraised his attire and clothes as he’d entered the small meeting room, and he was glad he’d chosen to go back to his hotel before meeting them to change from his charcoal conservative Armani suit to his equally elegant but more fashionable dark blue Boss. Considering their discrete nod of approval, he had passed the test. They had no agency attached yet, but in their prospection Kinnetik’s Eyeconic campaign had caught their attention (and hadn’t Vance been _pissed_ when they’d finally followed Brian). Liz and Doug had seemed impressed by his proposal, and Brian was glad he’d taken the time to kick his art department’s ass to come with an idea that would both reflect the designers’ flair and originality but still exude class and elegance. Brian had a good feeling they would sign him.  At least _they_ had no problem with Kinnetik being based in the Pitts for now, so that was a good sign, but Brian knew that their account would be small, at least the first years, and therefore he needed more.

Which led him to his previous meetings.

He’d asked Cynthia to set the meeting with his main target in the morning, to be fresh and clear-headed. In retrospect, Brian didn’t really know what to make of it. Though the insurance company only had three years under its belt, similar in that to Kinnetik, his CEO was everything Brian wasn’t: a conservative, stuck up, painfully straight man in his fifties with pictures of his perfect trophy wife and 2.5 children displayed on his desk. Brian had used every trick in his professional book on him, and if he was sure he’d managed to charm the pants off of his financial assistant, he had stopped at using his most trustworthy asset on her, as she was a woman ( _U_ _gh_ ) and she’d reminded him of Jennifer. Even he was not _that_ ruthless.   

He felt around in his pocket for the card she’d slipped there, and shot a message to Cynthia to send a bunch of flowers her way. You never knew the influence an assistant could have, and he wasn’t below playing the breeder’s game if it helped get him the account.

His lunch with his third prospect, the owner of the new “in” eaterie near Wall Street had been okay, he thought, and he’d pitched his proposal with assurance as he’d highlighted the profitable campaign he’d set up for _Frawley’s_ when he was still with Vanguard. Still, city-based competitors were already on the prowl, including fucking Kennedy & Collins, so it could go both ways.

Brian sighed. He’d worked himself and his team to the ground for the past couple of weeks to prepare the meetings while keeping their clients satisfied and feeling properly cared for. Ted had thankfully stepped up to the plate to deal with Babylon, and Cynthia had been her resourceful, professional self to keep his minions, as she called them, in gear. Even if he rarely told them, Brian was well-aware he couldn’t have done it without them both, and he took a mental note to make sure their end-of-year bonus would reflect his appreciation. Still, he couldn’t relax completely. He had to get the accounts, or he would have to make a painful decision.

He raised his head when the taxi stopped in front of the hotel. He paid the fare and made his way to the reception. The receptionist raised his head when he cleared his throat, and Brian saw a glimpse of appreciation in his eyes. _Sorry boy, I have a first-class gourmet meal ordered for tonight_ , he thought, _I have no taste for fast food right now_. The lusty gaze was replaced with a disappointed pout when Brian gave his room number.

“Ah, Mister Kinney, its appears your gest has arrived already.”

Brian thanked him and grabbed his keycard. All thoughts of contracts, lustful gazes and tiredness had fled his mind at the receptionist’s words, swiped away by the need to hold Justin in his arms, _now_.

When he entered the room, Brian’s eyes immediately fell upon the silhouette standing by the windows, and the knot he’d felt in his shoulders the entire day disappeared. He divested himself of his coat and briefcase and had to pause a second to take stock of the streetlights making lovely blond hair shine. He was so beautiful, his heart ached. Shaking his head to push away the maudlin sonnet he was about to compose, Brian slowly approached Justin and finally embraced him. He couldn’t stop himself and acting on instinct, plopped his head in his favorite spot in Justin’s neck, where he just inhaled. His soft ‘Hey’ echoed Justin’s, and Brian felt the distinct relaxing of his lover’s back.

As Justin turned around with a smile, Brian’s breath hitched. _Get a grip, Kinney,_ he chastised himself, _you can’t go around acting as a fucking teenager every time you see him._

He didn’t say anything and instead captured Justin’s smile with his lips. Once started, he couldn’t stop. Not kissing anyone else had never been a problem or a sacrifice for Brian when Justin’s lips, their eagerness, their soul-shattering softness had ruined him for any others.

Without a word, they slowly made their way to the bed. Their hands everywhere, forceful and eager after a month apart, their bodies falling into their well-known duet. They still tricked, the both of them, didn’t make a secret of it, but nothing compared to their unique dance. And when Brian entered Justin’s body, for a fleeting instant he could see himself with this man, and only this one, for the rest of eternity. He shoved the thought away and let himself give in to his lover’s pull.


	7. Chapter 7

Justin- New York

 

Justin was awoken by the sound of Brian’s cellphone the next morning. He barely registered Brian’s ‘hello’, but he shivered when his chest left his back and Brian got up to take the call in the bathroom.

Justin rolled on his back with a groan and burrowed in the duvet. He could feel a lovely ache in his backside, a nice reminder of their reunion sex. The hurried one, right after Brian had arrived, followed by a slow, hot fuck in the shower. Then the nice show they’d given the other patrons in the club’s backroom, and finally their sleepy, contented sex when they had stumbled their way back to the room, high on booze and each other. 

Justin couldn’t have taken his eyes away from Brian all night if he had tried. Was it their month apart, or was it something inherently _Brian_ that had made him so incandescent, so appealing, so larger than life? After six years, Justin was well used to the appreciative stare sent Brian’s way, from all kinds of audiences. But the night before had been something else.

When they had entered the club, the thumpa-thumpa hadn’t been able to drown the hush that had come across the dance-floor for a couple of beats. All the stares had been directed at them, and Brian had taken it with a winning smile, like his due. His arms had settled around Justin’s neck, and with a wink, he had led him to the dance floor in a prowl that had made Justin shiver.

Brian could have had anyone in a heartbeat, but he hadn’t left his side. They’d danced the night away, with short pauses to shoot down drinks, and when Justin had finally reached his breaking point and dragged him to the backroom, a smiling Brian had just complied.  Seeing him under the strobing lights, his head thrown back and eyes closed, sweat shimmering on his golden skin, Justin had felt thrown back six years prior. _The face of God indeed_ , he’d thought.

This was the Brian he’d so hopelessly fallen for, the God and the Legend, but as Brian had opened his eyes to look at him, and only him, a soft smile on his lips, he’d seen that it was also _his_ Brian, the one behind the mask, the one he’d come to know and love with his flaws and cracks. He was still a predator, the ultimate alpha, and Justin loved him for that. And he could never resent the persona anymore.

(For a second he’d been reminded of a line in an old song he’d heard a few years before, before he’d made his way back to Brian after his dalliance with Ethan. _The countless feast laid at my feet/ forbidden fruits for me to eat **[1]**_ , the song went, and Justin couldn’t blame Brian for having gorged on them. Anymore. He still hoped and still strived for being _enough_ for Brian, but not on that front. _He_ had Brian, _he_ was his one quiet lair when the predator needed his rest; and he felt okay with that. Who would resist the pull when faced with such a magnetic presence anyways? Justin certainly hadn’t, and he wouldn’t blame others for feeling the same, nor Brian for taking full advantage of it.)

With a smile on his face and the lingering image of a God-like Brian on the dance-floor lingering in his mind, Justin turned to face towards the en-suite door as it opened. He blinked his eyes open at the give of the mattress under Brian’s body, and he felt his blood turn cold. Gone the conqueror and master of the universe. In its place stood an ice king, features of stone and eyes of storm.

Brian was looking at the ceiling, eyes fixed and unblinking. When Justin touched his arm, he exhaled slowly, blinked, and turned his gaze on Justin.

“Brian, what is it? What happened?”

Justin couldn’t totally hide the worry in his voice. Was it Gus? Michael? Before he could come up with another worst-case scenario, Brian’s feature relaxed minutely as he spoke in a calm voice.

“No. Nothing bad, sorry I woke you. It was just work.”

Justin released the breath he’d been holding.

“Oh. Okay. Bad news?”

“You could say that.” Brian scoffed under his breath, before he rose from the bed. “I’m gonna order room service, want anything?”

Justin knew now when to refrain from pushing.

“Yeah, coffee and blueberry pancakes, please.”

He heard Brian order, and saw him step on the small balcony to have a smoke as he waited. From the bed, Justin could see him in the cold March light, his gaze lost in the distance. His breath mingled with the smoke of his cigarette, and Justin couldn’t help but to reach for his pad on the side table. He sketched away rapidly, trying to capture Brian’s expression, the shadows on his face, the downturn on his lips, the sadness in his eyes.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and with a last glance at his drawing, he rose to answer room service. He hoped he’d managed to capture the moment, the overall mood on Brian’s features before the spell had been broken.

They ate in companionable silence. Justin let Brian delve in his thoughts, as he tried to come up with an idea to raise his lover’s spirits.

 

[1] Depeche Mode, _Try walking in my shoes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might someday write how Justin came to discover Depeche Mode's Songs of Faith and Devotion album, and the impact it had on him in my headcanon for this fic.


	8. Chapter 8

Brian - **New York City**

 

Brian looked at Justin as they made their way down 5th avenue. It was Justin that had suggested the walk, under the guise of planning presents for his mother’s upcoming birthday. Brian was perfectly aware Justin could not afford any of the boutiques they passed, and would not accept any financial help, so he had to have noticed his somber mood and to have thought that a bit of retail therapy at Prada’s and Gucci’s would lift Brian’s spirits. _Perceptive little twat_ , he thought fondly. As he was perusing the shoes displayed in Louis Vuitton’s window, he heard a feminine voice behind them.

“Mr Taylor?”

He turned around to see a small lady in her fifties smiling tentatively at Justin, who exclaimed with a sunny wide grin “Ms Lin!” What a surprise! How are you?”

Brian looked on as they engaged in pleasantries until Justin turned around to him, always the perfect prep-school boy.

“Ms Lin, let me introduce you to my partner, Brian Kinney. He’s visiting the City for the weekend. Brian, this is Ms Lin; she owns a gallery in Brooklyn, and we’ve discussed the possibility of hanging some of my art there.”

Brian was taken aback for a second at that last comment, but he smiled politely as he shook the lady’s hand.

“Oh, Dear, if the pictures you showed me are anywhere true to the real pieces, the possibility will soon be a certainty.” She replied to Justin with a wide smile of her own.

Turning to Brian, she said conspiratorially, “Your partner is a talented artist and a fine young man to boot, but I’m sure you already know that, Dear, don’t you?”

Brian couldn’t help returning the impish smile she directed at him, nor the pride in his voice.

“That he is, M’am”, he replied, and let a startled laugh escape at the wink she threw him.

She returned her attention to a blushing Justin and they exchanged a few words more before she left them with a ‘See you soon, Dears’.

Justin turned to him with his trademark smile.

“Isn’t she sweet?” he gushed. “And such energy! Doesn’t she remind you of…”

“Daphne.” Brian heard himself reply.

“Exactly! She has the same energy, and she knows what she wants in her gallery, but she’s so lovely about it! And…”

Brian let Justin gush some more about Ms Lin while steering him through the Saturday crowd with a hand at the small of his back. He loved being allowed to do that freely and openly here. In the bustling and the chaos of the city, surrounded by New Yorkers who’d seen it all and more, nobody gave a shit about a couple of men showing some PDA. And Brian realized he yearned for that, for the normalcy of it all; he’d never been much for holding hands or intimate gestures in the streets of Pittsburgh outside of Liberty Avenue, but here, where he could, he felt a willingness to indulge. So he took Justin’s hand in his, and relished the warmth of it through his thin leather gloves. If Justin threw him a surprised look, he didn’t acknowledge it beside a small squeeze and a fond smile.

After another hour of window-gazing – and a small fortune spent on a beautiful Hugo Boss leather belt that Brian intended to put to test sometimes later, they made their way back to the hotel.

The sky, that had been cast all day colored as the late winter sun disappeared and the room was bathed in a rosy glow.

“I can’t feel my feet anymore,” Justin said as he shrugged his coat and stepped out of his shoes. “And I’m cold. I’m gonna take a long, hot shower. Care to join me?”

Brian only replied with a deep, hot kiss, and they fumbled their way to the bathroom.

They emerged after a long time, deliciously spent by an extraordinary blowjob - courtesy of Justin, that Brian had just had to reciprocate with a slow, deep fuck. Brian had helped Justin steady his footing after he’d come all over the shower stall, and he’d glided his fingers through his lover’s hair as he’d washed it. Justin had flopped face first on the mattress after that, and Brian had called room service to order him something disgustingly greasy. Justin was always hungry after coming his brains out.

No wanting to wake him, Brian took his cell and stepped outside. He lit a smoke, and dialed.

“Bri? Aren’t you in New York?” came Ted’s voice. “You told me you’d call when you landed back…”

“I am in New York, Theodore. I just wanted to let you know…” Brian paused for a second, sighed, and continued. “The Lemonide account fell through. Same song as usual, great proposal but they’re wary of the distance.”

“Oh, Bri… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, just tell me you have the quotations I asked you to get.”

“Brian, you’re sure you want…”

“Theodore.” Brian interrupted. “Just tell me. Would it be enough?”

“Well, yeah, but you would have to part with both, and if the office doesn’t stand on its own feet after a year, then you’ll have lost…”

“I know, Theodore, I know.” Brian said impatiently. “See you Monday, 8 am sharp.  And call Cynthia to let her know. We’ll discuss the plan before we announce anything to the team.”

With that, he hung up and contemplated the view. He had to bite the bullet and talk to Justin.

A knock on the door shook him out of his reverie. He stomped out his cigarette and went to open the door. As he tipped the man and set the tray on the table, he heard a groggy voice calling his name from the room. _Count on the smell of grease and carbs to wake him up_ , he smiled to himself.

“Right here”, he called back, and soon Justin shuffled into his arms, his hair mussed and his eyes sleepy.

“Smells good.” He mumbled in Brian’s chest.

“Smells greasy and disgusting, if you ask me.” He replied in a faux-snobbish tone. “But if it’s what it takes to replenish your batteries, I’m willing to tolerate it. After all, I do have projects for your tight little ass, and you’ll need the calories.”

He punctuated that with a smack on Justin’s butt, and the blond yelped and retaliated with a jab at Brian, who easily dodged it.

They sat at the table and started on their meals – a light salad for Brian, because, willing or not, he _was_ thirty-five, and he didn’t feel like sporting the beer gut he often saw on men in his demographics anytime soon.

He observed Justin, chewing happily – and silently, for once - on his mac’n cheese.

_Yeah, just my luck he’d be silent for once, when I’d love to hear him chatter away and give me a good excuse to stall,_ he thought. _Well, here goes._

“Justin?”

“Hmm?”

“I just remembered something Ms Lin said earlier.” _Smooth, Kinney, smooth._

Justin’s eyes sparkled at the name.

“Oh, Yeah, the paintings? I wanted to tell you first thing when you got here, but you jumped on me and made me lose my mind, as usual.” He said with a wink and a smile Brian unconsciously returned. “You know how many galleries I’ve presented my art to…”

Brian nodded, aware of Justin’s setbacks and frustration with the city’s artworld conceited and pompous representatives.

“…so I extended my research outside the island and I happened on her gallery…”

As Justin exposed his first meeting with Ms Lin and the tentative agreement they had, Brian’s resolve only strengthened. Justin needed more time in New York. He needed to focus on his art, and to do it freely, without any hindrance. But he was still tethered to the Pitts, to him, and it was keeping him back. Oh, he’d tried, he had. But the little shit was persistent, and as Justin had made crystal clear, resistance was futile.

_Breaking news, Kinney, it only took you six years to notice?_     

Brian knew that not only he couldn’t push Justin away, but he wanted to be with him, right beside him, when his big break came along, as it would. He tuned back in to the conversation.

“How long would she expose you?” He asked.      

“ _If_ it works” (Brian scoffed at that. Of course, it would) “three months at first. And if it goes well, we could sign for an entire year!”

Justin looked at him, then, and his enthusiasm dimmed.

“It won’t change a thing, Brian, you know that.” He said, taking his hand. Brian let him tangle their fingers on the table between them. “You’ll manage to get the accounts you need to open an office here. Or I’ll make my way back eventually.” ( _Yeah, right_ , Brian thought) “However long it takes, it doesn’t change a thing. As you said, it’s only time.”

God. Brian hated that he’d ever uttered such a moronic cliché. It was true, he knew it in his cells, but he didn’t want time - or anything else - to come between them. He wanted, and he wanted _now_.

“Sunshine, remember the call this morning?” he asked.

He saw a cloud pass through Justin’s eyes.

“Yeah, you said it was work. It wasn’t good news, was it?” A statement, more than a question.

_Of course he saw it._

“The big prospect I met yesterday declined to sign with Kinnetik.”

Justin’s expression fell slightly.

“Oh, Brian, I’m sorry. But what about the others? Did the meetings go well?”

“They were okay, but even if we sign them both, they’re small in comparison, and it won’t be enough to start the branch.”  There, he’d said it. He’d admitted his failure.

“Oh, okay. Well, as I said, it’s only time…”

“No, it’s not!” Brian burst.

Justin looked shocked at his rebuke, so Brian tried to relax his jaw and take a deep breath. He looked deep into Justin’s eyes, trying to ground himself, before he spoke again, more calmly.

“It’s not only time, Justin. It’s distance, and space, and fucking phone calls instead of you in front of me and in my bed. And… I know what I said, and I meant it, but I’m fucked up, Sunshine, so you certainly shouldn’t live by my words.”

Justin was meeting his gaze unflinchingly, a mix of fondness and amusement in his blue eyes.

_Spill it, man_.

“I don’t want to wait any longer. You know I only value achievements.” He said. Justin nodded with a slight frown. “Well, I want to be with you for your next achievement.”

Justin smiled at that. _Last chance to abort this conversation_ , Brian thought, but trooped through.

“I will open the New York office as soon as possible.”

The smile on Justin’s smile faltered and mixed with a puzzled expression.

“But, you just said that you didn’t have…”

“I know what I said.” Brian cut him. _Breathe, Kinney._ “But I might have another solution to launch the expansion right now.”

Justin’s eyebrow raised in question, but he didn’t intervene.

“It would be a risk.” Justin’s second eyebrow raised. “but I think it would be worth it.”

_Don’t stall now._

“I’d need to have your agreement to proceed, and to be sure you’re fully behind the plan”.

This time, Justin’s eyebrows disappeared behind his bangs.

_Okay, here we go._

“We’d have to sell the house.”

_There. Done._


	9. Chapter 9

Justin - **New York City**

 

“We’d have to sell the house.”

Justin’s brain blanked. A buzzing between his ears. Then it slowly rebooted, and Justin tried to process what he’d just heard.

“ ** _We_** ’d have to sell the **_house_**.”

Where the fuck was he supposed to start with that sentence?

_‘What house?’_ was his first coherent thought, but in a split second before he blurted it out, it dawned on him. **_The_** _house_ ** _._**

Justin tried to wrap his mind around the revelation. Brian had kept the house. Justin had had no idea, and he chided himself for never having asked Brian about it. When they’d called off the weeding, and Brian had kept the loft and Babylon, he’d just supposed Brian had cancelled the purchase; then he’d been so taken with the move, his new life, making things work with Brian, and he’d assumed…

_Fuck_ , he thought irritably to himself.  _Rule n°1 of the Brian Kinney Manual Operating Manual™: never assume, never presume._ When did Brian ever do anything remotely logical for other mere mortals? He didn’t, that’s when.

The question was out of his lips before he’d even thought it.

“…the house. You kept it?”

Was it a _blush_ creeping across Brian’s face? Justin couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He saw Brian cast his face down, and look at his fidgeting hands. _Brian. Fidgeting._ He rolled his lips in his mouth and looked back up at Justin before he answered.

“Yeah”. And stopped.

_Yeah?? You’ll have to be more forthcoming than_ that _, buddy._

Speaking of being forthcoming, Justin thought, he’d have to call his mom, to ask her why she hadn’t told him. She had to have known. Pushing the thought away in his mental ‘to do list’, Justin looked again at Brian’s guarded face.

“But… why?”

Again with the blushing. Justin waited while Brian looked away, visibly bracing his shoulders, before he met his eyes again in a calm stare.

“It was a good investment.” _Bullshit,_ Justin thought, _there’s more to it than that._ “…and I thought that we could you use it when… _if_ you came around in the summer…”

Justin hadn’t, too busy trying to make ends meet in the city.

“And I thought…” Brian paused there, inhaled sharply. “… just in case, if you ever wanted to come back near good’ole Pittsburgh someday.” Justin couldn’t miss the snark and self-deprecating tilt of Brian’s lips at that last part.

_Oh._

There it was.

At that moment, Justin realized something he’d thought he’d known already. Brian had _meant_ it. That beautiful house, and the speech he’d never thought he’d get to ever hear? Brian had meant it. With all his heart. But, Justin finally grasped, not just for Justin’s benefit, as he had thought at the time. No. For his own benefit, too. Brian had believed in it, he’d projected a life in that house, with Justin, _for himself_.  And Justin naively had taken his words at face’s value. He had believed Brian had done it for him alone, that he’d done that grand gesture to show Justin what he meant to him, to _‘make him happy’_. But Justin had failed to really understand the depth to which Brian had gone. He’d failed to _get it_.

He should have known. Brian never did anything halfway. It may take him longer to jump, but when he did, he threw himself in the deep end, consequences be damned.

_For fuck’s sake, Justin, this is the man who lost his job and went bankrupt to defeat Stockwell, and you’re surprised?_ He thought disgustingly at himself. _And you seriously believed he would just go back, business as usual, after he’d asked you to fucking get married?_

He observed Brian’s face. He hadn’t looked down, his eyes still, unflinching on Justin’s, an unfathomable expression on his face. A mix of pain, resignation, and something else, not quite hidden in the depth of hazel. Was it hope?

Justin almost asked, ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ when he saw it in his lover’s eye, the silent plead to get it. And it struck him. He did get it. Brian had done what, in his twisted, fucked-up mind was the right thing. Obviously he hadn’t told him, because he hadn’t wanted to give Justin anymore reason to hesitate. He hadn’t wanted to tether him to what he felt wasn’t Justin’s rightful, deserved place in the universe. So he had stayed silent, and pushed him to go out in the world, while he’d cradled his own aspiration that someday, whenever Justin was ready, he would make his way back to him and they would pick up right where they’d left. And now, he was ready to give up that aspiration, the future he’d hoped for, for a present with him.   _Oh, Brian_ , he thought at his lover’s steely resolve.

_Hold on_. There was still a point he had to clarify.

“You said _our_ house.”

“It is.” Brian replied. _Again with the unhelpful answers._

“Brian. It’s _your_ house. _You_ bought it.”

Brian looked down for a second, then lifted his head and gazed right back into Justin’s eyes.

“ _We_ bought it.  You name has always been on the paperwork.” It was said matter-of-factly.

If Justin hadn’t had his epiphany on the _why_ of it earlier, he would have been pissed at the new information. But, again, observed through a Kinney-esque lens, it made perfect sense. Brian would have committed all the way to the marriage, and he would have taken any and all measures to make sure that even if it wasn’t a _marriage_ for the backwards lawmakers of fucking Pennsylvania, it would meet the exact same standards in all way, shape and form. He’d have to pick Ted’s brain someday to check exactly what that entailed, he decided, but that was for later.

Justin focused again on his lover’s beautiful face. _What am I gonna do with you, you crazy, selfless, gorgeous piece of a human being_ , he thought.

Something of it must have shown on his face, because he saw Brian’s eyes clear and a small, shy smile grace his lips.

Justin reached for his hand and squeezed it once, ( _I get it)_ , before releasing. _No need for any profession of undying love,_ he thought. _We’re no munchers._

“Okay.” He said simply. “Tell me the plan.”


	10. Chapter 10

Brian - New York

 

“Tell me the plan.”

Brian released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He’d anticipated a barrage of questions, a pissed-off Justin, even a full-fledged queen-out, and he’d been prepared for that, but as usual, Justin hadn’t taken the expected way.

Brian had studied his face closely while Justin took it all in, the myriad of emotions flickering on his features, the slight frown on the ‘why’, and then the understanding dawning in his blue eyes after he’d processed his short answers.

_Thank you_ , he thought when Justin took his hand and squeezed it, nothing but love and understanding in his eyes. _Thank you for not pushing me to explain, for not needing words, and for still being the most perceptive man I’ve ever met._ Justin _got_ him, as he’d always had, and instead of feeling cornered and cut open for all to see, as he’d felt in the beginning, he felt relieved and grateful.

Justin was looking at him expectantly but patiently, so Brian inhaled, and told him the plan he’d designed with Ted. About the 2 million dollars they needed to have the office running for a year, about the contracts that had fallen through due to Kinnetik being based in Pittsburgh, about his hopes to get enough of them when he would finally open the branch, and his plans to make it sustainable before the money ran out.

He told him about how selling Babylon wasn’t enough.

(“Babylon, too, Brian? But it’s your second house, your favorite place!”

“No, it’s not, not anymore, Sunshine.” Brian had replied without missing a beat. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become an attraction, an ‘over the hill club-boy’, as Michael so eloquently put it, an old queer stuck in his ways who hasn’t realized he’s way past his heydays. Better to leave while I’m at the top of my game, and my reputation as the ruling stud of Liberty Avenue is still intact.” He’d finished with a wink and a leer at Justin.

Justin had laughed and snickered.

“Good thing for you I love decrepit old perverts.”

And the conversation had closed at that and Brian’s snarled “I’ll show you decrepit, you little twink.”)

Brian didn’t understate the risks, either. He told Justin about the difficult market, the risk of not making it and having to go back to the Pitts with their assets lost and nothing to show for it. He wanted Justin to have the complete picture, so he went full disclosure.

And Justin listened attentively, asking smart questions, providing constructive thoughts. Brian could see he liked engaging in Kinnetik’s growth plan, and that he appreciated being involved in a conversation about Brian’s business, and about their shared future. Brian had always relied on Justin’s keen artistic sense and he’d never shied away from seeking his advice on Kinnetik’s campaigns and layouts. Fuck, he’d even let him name the company. Still, he had always stopped short of discussing the dirt and grime aspects of management, and he was unveiling Justin’s equally keen sense of business. 

_News alert again, Kinney,_ he thought, _the kid was accepted for a Business degree at Dartmouth, for fuck’s sake. The fact he chose to flip his asshole father the bird didn’t turn him into a moron overnight._

They discussed long into the evening and the night, their meal long forgotten. When the conversation started lulling, Brian rose to serve them both a glass of Jack Daniel’s from the minibar. He gave Justin his glass, and stepped out on the balcony to light a smoke and clear his head. His glass cradled in his hand, he took a long drag and slowly exhaled as his eyes took in the city lights. He felt exhausted, his mind still reeling from so much disclosure. But he could admit, in the recess of his own mind, that he felt lighter and contented. Everything was in the open, and Justin had embraced it.

Before his mind could trick him into some lesbianic gushing about his partner, he felt the man’s presence behind him.

“Brian? I’m dead on my feet, I’m going to bed. You coming?”

Brian didn’t turn around, but he could easily picture his face with the low voice: eyes at half-mast, a tired pout on his full lips, his body made supple by exhaustion.

“I’ll be here in a second.” He replied.

Brian felt Justin slip inside, and he dragged another hit on his cigarette before putting it out. He looked at the city again. _Soon_ , he thought, and he turned around to join the body he craved so much in the bedroom.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the E ratings come into play.

Justin- **New York City  
**

 

Justin woke up with a start, and blinked a couple of times at the hand sprawled right in front of his eyes on the pillow. The weight around his waist, the heat at his back and the small puffs of breath on the nape of his neck let no doubt as to where he was. He glanced at the clock on his side table. 5:30 am. Josh’s early shifts at Starbuck’s had definitely screwed his sleep pattern, he thought, as he hadn’t been able to sleep through his roommate’s shower ever since he’d started sharing the small apartment, despite Josh’s efforts to be quiet. _Thank the paper-thin walls_ , his mind helpfully provided.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. He had wanted to take Brian on his projects for his body, but the day’s long walk (and multiple rounds of sex), topped with the long hours spent discussing and the heavenly feel of the thick mattress must have killed his last resistance.

He left his mind drift back to what they’d discussed, and more specifically, to what he had learnt. He was immensely grateful for the level of trust Brian had extended him, and he couldn’t quite yet wrap his head around it. He couldn’t fathom the effort it had taken his closed-off partner to open up to him. _Can I be any more amazed at your layers, Brian?_ He thought. _Can I be anymore grateful that you let me in, all those years ago, and that you kept on allowing me back every time I left?_

Turning around gently in Brian’s arms, he contemplated his peaceful face. He so wanted for the world to see beneath the surface, beneath the mask and the attitude and see, like he did, the even more gorgeous mind and soul inside. But again, he mused, the mask and the persona were a part of him. And Justin had enough self-awareness by now to doubt he’d have fallen so deeply and irremediably in love with Brian if it hadn’t been for the façade he presented to the world, and if Brian had been a two-dimensional man.  The cracks, the faults in the armor he’d felt had been as much of a pull to him as the armor itself, beautiful as may be. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

This broken, handsome, flawed being trusted him with his well-guarded heart. And Justin had to make sure Brian knew intimately, without a doubt, that his trust wasn’t misplaced. Words wouldn’t suffice. Brian only believed in actions, in touch. Justin would have to use his language to make him understand.

As they roamed Brian’s face, Justin’s eyes caught a shadow on the dresser behind his lover’s head. The belt Brian had bought. Justin felt an inkling in his mind, the beginning of an idea. Would Brian get the message Justin sent him?

 _Well, I just have to make it as unambiguous and crystal-clear as I dare_ , he resolved.

He slowly rose from the bed and padded to the bag. He took the packet out as silently as he could, and slowly removed the belt from its luxurious case. As the supple, thick brown leather coiled in his hand, Justin almost changed his mind.

 _Stop that_ , he chided himself, _and be as open with him as he’s been with you_.

Justin stepped back to the bed, and set the belt on the side table, near their well-used supply of lube and condoms.

As the mattress gave under his weight, Brian’s body shifted and he unconsciously reached for Justin’s waist. Justin moved willingly in Brian’s embrace and started placing slow, unhurried kisses on his neck, from his collarbone to his ear and back. As he progressed, he could feel Brian’s body start to react, a growing heat and length where his thigh touched Brian’s groin, even as the man himself breathed peacefully in slumber. After a moment - minutes, hours, Justin didn’t know and didn’t care- he felt Brian’s breathing pattern start to change and his heart quicken where his chest was pressed to Justin’s.

“Justin?” came a sleepy, gravely question. Justin didn’t speak and kept on unhurriedly mapping Brian’s torso with his lips, until Brian stretched the arm beneath his head and used it to bring Justin’s face to his level. Their gazes met, and Justin almost murmured ‘ _let me’_ , but he kept quiet and tried to convey it through his eyes. He let Brian study his face, and when his eyes cleared of their question, Justin slowly took his lips. The kiss started slow, soft, their mouths getting reacquainted with each other, but, as always with them, a fiery pit of heat soon grew, and with it came the desperate need to give and take all they could. Justin soon found himself panting, achingly hard, and Brian’s hands couldn’t stop grabbing him, bringing him closer, always closer, until no air remained between them.

As Brian slowly started pushing him on his back, Justin stopped him and looked at him until Brian relaxed and let himself be rolled on his back with a slight smile. Justin kissed him in acknowledgment and shifted until he could grab the belt on the side table. At the muted ‘click’ the belt buckle made when it shifted, Brian opened the eyes he’d closed for the kiss. His eyebrow rose in question, and Justin could read ‘what do you think you’re doing, Sunshine?’, a challenge in his eyes. Justin thought ‘ _taking care of you, Brian, will you let me?’_ , and it must have shown on his features, as Brian gave a single, small nod. Justin slowly brought Brian’s hands above his head, before tying them loosely together with the belt. They’d played a bit before, but never in those positions, and Brian had taught him about the safety rules, the color-code, so his eyes never left his lover’s face as he proceeded, making sure Brian was on green.

He gave Brian a languorous kiss before making a slow way down his body. He took long instants on every inch of skin, before finally reaching his first stop. As he licked and sucked and kissed Brian’s delicious cock, he could feel him growing restless under him. Justin knew Brian loved running his fingers in his hair whenever he blew him, and Brian’s frustration as being restrained was palpable. With a look up, Justin silently told him ‘ _relax and enjoy the ride_ ’, and smoothed a finger around his hole.

He managed to open the lube and coat his pointer finger while never pulling his lips from their place. When Justin’s finger breached the tight circle of muscle at his entrance, he paused and let Brian relax. After a few seconds, he resumed a slow movement, in and out, in and out, his head following the same pattern and rhythm on Brian’s cock. He finally felt the bundle of nerve he was looking for, and changed his movement to a soft caress, a small pressure, slow but relentless. He heard Brian’s breath quicken, felt his legs tighten around his torso, his balls draw tight under his tongue. With a last flick of his finger he took Brian to the root and swallowed, and with a small whimper that sounded like ‘Justin’, Brian coated his throat with his come.

After a few instants, the tensing in Brian’s body gave way to small tremors, and Justin let his oversensitive dick fall out of his mouth. He slowly made his way back up to Brian’s lips, and kissed him deeply, never letting his finger leave Brian’s hole. The sensation must have registered under the residue of his orgasm, as Brian slowly opened his eyelids and fixed him unflinchingly, a new question in his eyes. Justin gave him a smile that he hoped conveyed reassurance. ‘ _I won’t take advantage of your openness, Brian, trust me?_ ’, and when the man nodded again, he slowly made his way back down to his lover’s groin. He gave a light kiss to Brian’s spent cock, eliciting a shiver from the man, and, reaching further down, started licking behind his balls. He slowly grabbed a pillow that had fallen beside the bed, and pushed it under Brian’s haunches. Apparently sensing when Justin was going, Brian minutely relaxed his muscles and let his gorgeous legs fall open a bit wider.

With is tongue, his lips, his fingers, Justin proceeded to map Brian’s most intimate spot, lost in the heady feeling. It didn’t take long for Brian’s cock to stir back to life, and for Justin to bring him back on the edge. He kept him there as long as he could, but realized he could not ignore his own lust any longer. He was harder than steel, and his dick was making a mess of precome in the sheets under him. With a sigh, he let his mouth fall away from Brian’s hole, but kept three fingers buried inside his lover as he kissed his way up his body to his lips. Brian was panting, his eyes tightly closed, and the sight almost made Justin come on the spot.

With a shake of his head to clear his mind, he reached with his free hand to test the belt’s give around Brian’s hands and make sure it wasn’t too tight. Then he reached for the condom on the side table.

_Here comes my message to you, Brian._

As he felt the movement, Brian slowly followed with his eyes. Justin hadn’t moved his fingers in the last minute, but he could see the feel of them in Brian’s eyes, and the doubt on his brow. Brian couldn’t totally hide the vulnerability there, the apprehension clouding his gaze. Justin looked at him in silence, and again, he gave a slight nod. Justin registered the darkness in Brian’s eyes, the storm brewing beneath the clear hazel, the haunted expression as he slowly, slowly pulled his fingers out of Brian’s body. Brian’s breath hitched at the sudden emptiness, but also in anxiety and concern. As he opened the condom, Justin felt the tension return to his lover’s body, the brace before the fall _. I won’t let you fall_ , Justin told him with his eyes. As he slipped his hands slowly between them, as the uneasiness and fear in Brian’s eyes gave way to stubborn resolve and a clenching of his jaw, Justin couldn’t help but marvel at the man below him, who would literally let himself be broken into pieces by Justin if he thought that was what the blond wanted.

And relief washed over Brian’s features as he felt Justin sheathe his cock with the condom, echoed in the deep sigh and the sudden sag of his body. Justin kept his eyes wide open as he kissed his lips, as he tried to convey his message through his gaze. _In bed or out, my love, I won’t let you allow me to break you, even with your permission. You’ve let me top you in the past, and I love you for that. But not tonight, not when you’ve opened yourself so fully to me, in words and in deeds. Not when you have no way to stop me or regain control if it’s too much. Not when you’re so vulnerable._

Understanding dawned on Brian’s face, and his features and eyes displayed so much gratitude that Justin couldn’t help thinking about Jack and Joan Kinney. _Fuck you, fuck you both, and may you rot in hell for all eternity for what you’ve done to him._ He forcefully shoved the slimy thought aside, and with what he hoped was his most sunny and loving smile, he positioned himself above Brian’s dick and slowly let himself sink on his heat. He was still lax due to their activities the day before, but Justin nevertheless felt the burn, and welcomed it, the stretch of his body, the feeling of fulness, of completion. Brian was devouring his face with his eyes, with such amazement and warmth that he knew he wouldn’t last.

As he lost himself in the sensation, in the burning pyre between them, Justin prayed to a God he didn’t really believed in to watch over Brian, and he swore to do his part.

When he felt the tremors racking Brian’s body as his orgasm hit, he gazed into his beautiful face and let himself be washed away by the crashing wave. As he unfastened the belt and felt Brian cradle his body against him, his last thought was that he, too, had fallen into safety.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, I don’t think there’s any issue or question or even symbolism regarding topping or bottoming. And in my opinion, in real life, whatever happens between two consenting adults is for no one to judge or dissect. But Brian has a complicated approach to bottoming in canon, a trust-related issue in my opinion, and I tried to explore that.


	12. Chapter 12

Brian - **NYC Kinnetik branch, May 2006**.

 

“That’s the last box, Mr Kinney. We’ll be back in an hour after our lunch-break to start assembling the desks and to install the computers.”

Brian dismissed the movers with a nod and a hand gesture, and looked around him to what would the following week become the New York City branch of Kinnetik.

There wasn’t much to look at. The room where he stood was barely half the size of his office in Pittsburgh, and it would have to accommodate his junior advertiser, a graphist and the panels and tables for the layouts. Brian stepped in the reception (if a closet could deserve such a pompous title), and into his ‘office’. It was almost the size of his first office, back when he’d started as a junior at Ryder’s, and it would have to fit the meeting table. Next door was a small bathroom, and that was it. Barely a fourth of the headquarters’ size in the Pitts, for double the price.

 _Welcome to Manhattan,_ he thought bitterly.

Nevertheless, he was happy he had found the place at all, thanks to Jennifer’s contacts in the realtor world. It hadn’t even been on the rental market yet when he’d snatched it. The location was top-notch, at the limit between West Village and TriBeCa, the space, though small, was bathed in natural light, and the cream color of the walls would nicely complement the steel and glass furniture he’d ordered, and would give a modern yet elegant feel to the office. A couple of JT Originals on the walls would bring the finishing touch to the display Brian had imagined for his future clients.

(He’d left his favorite painting back in his office in Pittsburgh, obviously. The walls here wouldn’t properly showcase it. And, in a moment of goo he allowed himself in the privacy of his own mind, he thought _no need for the reminder when I have the artist in residence._ )

His employees would arrive in a couple of days, and they would finally get the ball rolling. Brian had handpicked his best and most motivated junior exec and graphist for the branch, a woman and a man, both in their late twenties, with no personal attachment and with enough ambition to take the plunge with him.  He couldn’t waste any time in micro-management here, and he knew Cynthia and Ted would make sure the rest of his minions would stay in line back in Pittsburgh in his absence.

He’d officially made Ted Kinnetik’s Financial and Administrative Director (a position he did fulfill anyways, even before he had the title), to the man’s confused gratitude. Cynthia had welcomed her new title as Executive Director with a sniff and a sly ‘ _finally!_ ’, and Brian had pretended not to see the suspicious shine in her eyes. Together, they would be a force to reckon with, and Brian knew they’d work their ass off to surpass his expectations and be worthy of his trust.

Brian had let Cynthia handpick his assistant, and she’d chosen a small, mousy young black woman Brian didn’t quite remember ever crossing path with in his firm. When he’d raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her, she’d simply said “she’s good, she’s efficient and a pro. She may look demure and shy, but she’s never taken anyone’s shit, so she should be able to put up with yours.” Sensing no flaw in her argument, he had agreed and Cynthia had spent the last month grooming Helen to Brian’s quirks.

A knock on the door interrupted his reverie, and he turned around to find Justin with an enormous grin on his face.

“Surprise! I know I told you I was working, but a server at the restaurant owed me a favor and he agreed to cover for me while I came to witness your big move!” the young man said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Brian smirked and silently opened his arms for Justin. He hoofed with the force of the impact when Justin quite literally jumped on him, but he couldn’t refrain a smile.

“Hey”, he said in the blond hair.

“Hey”, he felt Justin reply where his lips met his neck.

They held onto each other for a second, and Brian let go of the itch that had been lodged in his chest for the past couple of months. They’d seen each other for Spring Break, when Justin had travelled back to Pittsburgh, but they’d been busy with the family and with the red-tape for the sale of both Babylon and the house. Even if the two other prospects had signed Kinnetik, some instinct in Brian had urged him to proceed with the plan, and Justin had agreed.

They had taken the time to say their goodbyes to both places though, before Justin had to fly back.

First to Babylon, with the usual gang, reveling in the thumpa-thumpa, drinking too much, and dancing the night away.  The place would remain a dance-club, much to his friends delight, as Brian had found a buyer interested in the activity’s steady revenue. But he knew he wouldn’t be back, except maybe on rare occasions in what had been his second home, his lair, and his kingdom. He’d decided to go with a bang, and the goodbye fuck he and Justin had engaged in in the backroom would be the most shared legend in Liberty Avenue for the next generation of wide-eyed young queers. They’d made sure of that.

They’d said their goodbyes to ‘Britin’, as Justin had called it, in a more private but no less heated manner, taking their time in each room, and even the pool.

Coming back to the present, Brian stepped back to capture Justin’s lips in his. They hadn’t seen each other since, and he’d missed the blond deeply. Soon their kiss turned more forceful, more heated, and Brian refrained a laugh when Justin started unbuttoning his shirt. With a mock-scold, betrayed by his lust-filled voice, Brian stopped the blond’s hands.

“Why, sunshine, where are your manners? What would Mother Taylor say if she saw you trying to take advantage of a handsome CEO five years your senior?”

“Twelve years, _mon chéri_ ,” Justin snorted while he resumed his work, on Brian’s fly this time. “And since Deb has had way too much influence over her these past years, she’d probably wolf-whistle and tell us to play safe before leaving us to it.” He finished opening Brian’s pants with a wink, and started pawing at his jacket.

Brian tried to envision Jennifer in the scenario.

_No, she’s way too classy for that. She’d pretend she hadn’t seen anything and propose tea and cookies._

All thoughts of his lover’s mother went out the window when said lover slipped his hand in his pants and bit his earlobe with a growled “Fuck me. _Now._ ”, so he proceeded to do just that.

And when the movers came back to the sight of a beautiful blond twink being pounded into the office’s carpet by the boss, they simply ignored the grunts and pants and started their work in the main room. After all, they were new Yorkers. They’d seen worse.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the time-jump.  
> This chapter also includes a flash-back.

Brian - **New York, Late Summer 2010**

 

When the market had crashed in the last months of 2007, leaving a lot of homeowners reeling with the shock and opening two years of full economic collapse, Ted had saluted Brian’s perceptiveness in reading the signs and selling his assets while they were at the top of their value.

“You saved yourself a huge loss, Bri,” he’d said. “You would have been left with an empty shell.”  Brian had nodded, and he hadn’t told him that if he could have afforded it at the time, and even knowing the market would crash, he’d have kept the house anyways.

_No regret, Kinney,_ he thought, and he sure had no reason to dwell on the past. In 2006, the house had sold for 200,000$ more than he’d bought it the year before, thanks to the minor works he’d had done in the meantime. And it sure had helped the New York branch of Kinnetik take off. No that it had been easy, Brian thought as he dragged his hand on his face. If he’d stalled, if he’d made the move a mere six months later, he wouldn’t have had the time to secure enough accounts and to prove himself to his clients before the economy collapsed. He’d have been swept with the tsunami, and Kinnetik would have been toast.  

His small teams and the firm’s lean structure had been an asset in the context, and both his offices in New York and in Pittsburgh had managed to make it through without any lay-offs. It had been a close call a couple of times in the past two years, and Brian, Cynthia and Ted had discreetly decreased their own salaries to make sure they could pay everyone, but they’d weathered the storm. 

They weren’t fully out of the woods yet, the clients were slow to spend on advertisement when they couldn’t project the sales in such an unstable economy, but things were starting to look up.

Still, Brian thought back, it was a good thing the loft’s mortgage had been paid at the time, so Brian had been able to lend it to Jennifer when her boss’ agency had gone under and she’d been laid off, left unable to pay her own condo. She’d had to sell it for a dime, and she’d moved in it with Tucker for the time it had taken her to find a new position in a lawyer firm, and to finally accept Tucker’s marriage proposal.

(When she’d given him back her set of keys, she’d told him: “It is a really nice place to live in, Brian, Tuck will certainly miss your fuckpad- ”

“Mom!!!” Justin had interjected.

“- and so will I.” She’d finished with a wink.

Justin’s outraged “MOM!!!!” had covered his own shocked laugh.

_That’s Debbie’s influence for you, Sunshine’,_ he’d thought.)

As for the rest of the family, they’d weathered the storm similarly, with ups and downs. They’d managed, thanks to their solidarity. Carl had been obliged to postpone his retirement because his savings had been impacted by the crisis. Michael’s shop had almost gone under, and had only been saved by Rage’s revenues online and because Ben’s tenure provided a stable salary to pay for their mortgage. Hunter had thankfully obtained a full grant at CMU after his two years at Allegheny  Community College. Emmet’s caterer activity had suffered greatly, but people still married and died, so he’d made it through.  Brian and Justin had helped whenever possible, but it wasn’t much, as the art market had also crashed for two full years.

Justin had been among the lucky ones, as he’d already started getting his name out there when things came to a stop. Ms Lin had been pushed to lay off an employee, but even at the worst she’d managed to keep Justin around for a couple of days a week, enough to make ends meet with his commissions and sales. And now the market was on the rise again, so all in all things were okay.

Things had been surprisingly okay between them, too, despite the stress in their respective fields. They hadn’t seen that much of each other for a time, what with Brian’s crazy hours, but they’d managed not to lash too much at each other in the roughest patches. Well, not too often, at least. There had been one major crisis, and they’d been close to throw everything to the winds. Brian shivered at the memory.

 

***

**_Flashback: New York, Winter 2008_ **

 

Brian can’t remember what started the fight, but here they are, now, Justin’s furious, teary eyes avoiding his, his hands shaky as he grabs his coat and opens the door.

His words pure venom as he spits, “I thought you finally understood that I am on your side, Brian. But you still won’t let me in. I can’t take you shutting me out anymore. And I won’t.”

When the door slams shut behind him, Brian’s first instinct is to reach for a bottle, any bottle, and just fuck it all.

_You never chase anyone, they chase you_ , his inner voice, his _father’s_ voice, murmurs. _That’s how it goes_.

“Oh, shut up, Jack, and Fuck! You!” he growls out loud, and launches himself after Justin.

By the time he makes it down the stairs, Justin has his hand raised and a cab is pulling up at the curb.

“Justin!”

When he lifts his eyes towards him at the call, Brian is hit by a sense of déjà-vu. It’s not the same time, not even the same city, but it sure is the same man and it’s not the first time Brian is chasing after him.

Justin’s eyes flicker in recognition, as if he’s felt it too. Brian sure as hell hopes that Justin realizes that this time, the script is different. He’s not here, barefoot and shivering in the street, to push away a young enamored stalker. No. He’s here, throwing his pride aside, to pull his 25-years-old lover ( _partner)_ , back in his arms and in his life.

So he does. And Justin’s sigh when he pushes his head against Brian’s chest gives him the reassurance he needs to whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s bullshit.” A murmur in his chest.

“Yeah. And you know better than anyone how full of shit I am.”

He feels Justin’s small smile more than he sees it. It gives him hope.

And enough courage to murmur “I love you. Stay.”

And, miraculously, Justin does.

***

 

Brian passed his hand on his neck and pushed the memory away. His thoughts had been derailed, again, but it was no wonder. His gaze fell upon the page on his desk.

Jennifer’s message read:

“ _Dear Brian,_

_An old colleague of mine sent me this. She knew I had some kind of connection to it, and she thought I might be interested. You might want to take a look._

_Love you both,_

_Jenn.”_

Attached was a real estate ad for the house.

It appeared well kept, still. Brian’s eyes rapidly scanned the description, simply noting that a part of the stables had been converted into a guesthouse. _Nice touch,_ he thought. When he stopped at the price, his eyebrows rose. It was less than half what Brian had paid back in 2005. His rolled his lips and made a rapid calculation of the cost the stable work must have been. He’d had the same idea, back then, a place for Gus and the girls to stay when they came back for the holidays, and where they would be comfortable not encroaching on Brian and Justin’s routine (or not witnessing their hyperactive sex life). But he hadn’t come around to doing it after the girls and Justin had moved out, then the need to open the New York branch had taken precedence, so he’d sold it without the arrangement done.

He didn’t notice the opening of the door and the soft steps behind him, but the arms wrapping around his shoulders and the head that nestled in his neck didn’t feel like an intrusion or a surprise. _More like a warm blanket_ , he thought, disgruntled at his own sappiness.

Justin had spent the afternoon painting, and his skin smelt faintly of the pigments he’d used. His cold nose pressed behind Brian’s ear made a small shiver run down his spine. Brian felt his lips move against his pulse point.

“What’re you working on? The new Gritsberg Ware campaign?”

When he didn’t answer immediately, Justin lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at the documents on his desk. Brian made no move to hide the pictures. He’d learnt his lesson.

“Brian? Is this… the house?”

 Brian nodded in answer.

“Where did you get the ad?”

“Your mother. She heard about it and sent it my way.”

“My… but why?” Justin sounded puzzled.

_Yep. The two of us, Sunshine._

“No idea. She probably wanted to show us we’d made the right move at the right time when we sold it”, Brian said, standing up and turning around to kiss his lover in greeting. Justin accepted a peck, but pulled his head back before Brian could deepen it.

“What do you mean?”, he asked with a questioning tilt of the head.

“Look at the price”, Brian replied, as he disengaged from the arm that had snaked around his waist and gestured to the ad.

He grabbed the tumbler of bourbon on the liquor cart. After a positive ‘hmm’ from Justin to his silent ‘want one?’, he poured two glasses, and set Justin’s near his elbow where he was bent over the desk to study the description. As he walked to the window, he took a sip, and let the alcohol burn his tongue before swallowing. He knew Justin had reached the price tag when he heard his shocked inhale of breath.

“Brian! That’s less than half-”

“What we sold it, I know.”

“And they converted-”

“The stables, yeah, I saw it too.”

A pause.

“Why, _Mister Kinney_ , I thought you hated when couples-”

“Finished each other’s sentences?” Brian said with a smirk, his tone a mockery of the one he’d used numerous times in the past. He turned around and was rewarded by a beautiful grin and sparkling eyes.

_‘Sunshine’. You would have made a fortune in branding, Debbie._

He made his way back to the desk, and touched the tip of his finger to the picture. From the corner of his eye he caught Justin observing him silently. Turning his head slightly, he raised an eyebrow. With a soft smile and a look between Brian’s face and the pictures, Justin murmured, “You want it, don’t you. You want to buy it back.”

It was a statement, not a question.

_Observant little twink._

He pushed away from the desk again, and walked to the windowsill to grab a cigarette. He lit it, and inhaled deeply.

“We can’t afford it.” He finally said. No need to try and pretend otherwise. Might as well cut to the chase.

“Okay. The situation is stable now, and the perspectives are better than they’ve been for the last couple of years?”

“Yes. At that rate, we’ll regain our pre-crash growth sometimes next year.”

“So you told me. But you don’t want to seize the opportunity to buy it back at half the price because…?”

 Brian felt a spike of anger at Justin’s patient tone. A few years ago, he would have bristled and probably lashed out. Now, he just let his brow furrow and turned around.

“You know exactly why. We’ve been lucky, Justin. Look what happened to Vanguard. And they’ve managed to keep half their team. We made it through the worst because we had taken calculated risks.” _And thanks to pure, dumb luck with our timing too_ , he added for himself.

“And the risk would be too high right now.” Justin stated.

“If the market plunged again, I could lose this branch, or even both. That’s why I haven’t bought the office space here, to be able to cut my losses and preserve the main office if things go south again.”

Justin nodded. They’d had that talk before, so Brian knew Justin got it. Maybe in a year, or two. But not now.

“Okay.” Justin said after a second. He looked down at the pictures, back at Brian’s eyes, and a fleeting expression passed across his features before he slowly moved to the taller man. His expression changed. This time Brian couldn’t mistake the lust in his eyes for anything else, so he obligingly bowed his head when Justin used a hand on his nape to bring their foreheads together.

He murmured, “I’m covered in paint and I stink like the subway I took home. Care to wash my back?”

Brian happily pushed all thoughts of house and business strategies aside to take Justin on his offer. And when the blond didn’t move fast enough for his liking, he literally took the matter in his own hands by lifting a giggling, squirming Justin over his shoulder and marching them to their big bathroom.


	14. Chapter 14

Justin - **New York City, late summer 2010.**

 

Justin stepped back from his easel and set down his brush. As he appraised his latest canvas, he unconsciously massaged his palm. It barely cramped anymore, except when he pushed unreasonably, but he was now able to forecast any change in the weather. It would probably rain sometime in the day.

He looked critically at his painting. A dark, brown shadow set in a green background, shades of light and blues on top. The shadow wasn’t threatening; more beckoning than anything. _Touches of white_ , Justin mused, _or yellow_? No. White. Light. The shadow needed more light on its upper half.

A short rap on the door was followed by a hushed “Justin, Dear?”

He turned around and frowned slightly at Ms Lin’s apologetic air.

“Yes, Ms Lin? Need anyth- Oh, crap. Your meeting. I’ll be out in a second to man the gallery-” he apologized profusely. “Go, rush out, don’t let me hold you-”

“It’s okay, Dear”, she chuckled. “I still have another hour and my meeting’s right around the corner,” she said as she stepped into the studio. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted some tea- Oh.”

She’d stopped in front of the easel, and her eyes had slightly widened.

“Well, now I see why you’ve spent half the day locked in here,” she smiled at him, as if to make sure he didn’t take her words as a reproach. “This is incredible, Justin.”

He stayed silent as he watched her study his work. She had a really keen eye for art, and her inputs were always on point and helpful whenever Justin was stumped or hesitant with his work’s direction. After a minute she murmured to herself, almost indistinctly, “wherever this place is I’d love to see it. It looks like a resting place, so peaceful and inviting…”.

Louder, she asked, “What inspired you, Dear?”

Justin had noted her use of words. _Place_? He hadn’t really been thinking about anything when he’d put brush to canvas. He’d just wanted to let out the strange knot of emotions he’d had in his gut for the past few days. Ever since he’d gotten home to find Brian contemplating the ad for what would, in another life, have been their home, a wistful look on his face.

Justin tilted his head and _looked_ at the painting, not as its creator this time, but as a simple viewer. And he saw it. The tall trees framing the façade, the dark bricks and panels of wood encasing the windows, the clear coating on the second floor ( _not white enough_ ), the cold winter light making the house’s silhouette all the more inviting. He hadn’t even been aware of his inspiration.

_Guess Brian is not the only wistful one._

“Dear?”

He started at his boss’ voice, and sent her an apologetic look for zoning out on her. She smiled indulgently.

“I guess I was inspired by a place from my past, and the futures.”

She waited for him to go on. Justin contemplated his own words.

“The paths not taken, the roads left untraveled. What you have to let go of, sometimes, to be able to move forward…” he paused, stumped in his thinking.

“I don’t feel any regret, though.” She mused as she studied the canvas anew.

“Because there’s none.” Justin murmured. “Sometimes, you’re at a fork road, and you just have to pick a path. But it doesn’t have to be painful.” A bit louder, he continued, “you pick one, and you reach the destination you were supposed to, or at least, you know deep down you’re in the right direction and you enjoy the trip there. And you don’t regret the choice you’ve made-” his mind conjured an image of Brian, bent over the desk in their shared apartment, his features a study in serenity in the morning light, “not in the slightest, but some nugget of the past comes to your attention, and for a minute you wonder what the other path would have been like, if it would have been rockier, or smoother. What parts of your life would have remained constant-” _Mom. Molly. Daphne. **Brian**. _ “-and what would have changed.” He paused. “And for a second, you wish you hadn’t have to make the choice. But still, you don’t regret it.”

Ms Lin looked at him silently, her mouth slightly agape, before she blinked twice and turned around to the painting with a mutter that sounded like ‘the kid could pitch and sell their own art to Picasso or Pollock’.

( _Huh?_ Justin thought. He must have misheard.)

“Well, when a place like that makes you feel like this, and inspires such feelings and art in you, it seems worth it to try and visit it again.” She finally said.

With a pat on his arm and a warm smile, she left after she’d assured him he still had time to clean his brushes before she had to leave.

Justin’s mind drifted back to his boss’s words, weighing them, pondering as he gathered his utensils and put them in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at the painting. _More whites_ , he resolved. He turned back to his cleaning, took a deep breath, and felt something settle in his chest.

_I’ll call Mom first, then Ted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might someday write the adventures of Justin and Ms Lin and how he came to work for her. Stay tuned.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the new point of view!

**Ted - Pittsburgh, early Fall 2010.**

 

Ted contemplated the documents on his desk, and thought back to his conversation with Justin a week before.

The two of them hadn’t been friends, the first few years; more like acquaintances, two guys who happened to be sharing the same circle, the same places. Even when it had been clear Justin would stick around, being respectively the senior and junior of their weird clique hadn’t made it easy for them to connect. But circumstances had brought them closer when Ted had started to work at Kinnetik. And Brian’s cancer… it had made them allies of a sort in the fight to care for the man. They’d both known not to pamper Brian too obnoxiously, too obviously, so they’d started relying on each other’s messages (‘He had to rush out the conference room this morning, I think the nausea is even worse this time’; ‘he didn’t sleep more than 2 hours, and he lashed out before he left the loft, beware’) to keep tabs on Brian’s mood and symptoms in the part of his life they weren’t privy to, and to adjust accordingly.

Ted had been weirdly flattered at the time that Justin had entrusted him with Brian’s well-being, and they’d kept in touch regularly when the young man had left for New York City. And he had been happy when he’d received the call to hear that Justin still trusted his competences and discretion.

A knock on the door made him scramble to cover the documents he had been looking at and to simultaneously open a new tab on his screen.

“Theodore, don’t tell me you’re reading porn-y gay _Ironman_ fanfiction during office hours?”

Ted exhaled in guilty relief when he heard Cynthia’s voice and looked up to see her in the doorway. He Brian Kinney™ impression was spot-on, from the snarky tone to the raised eyebrow and relaxed stance. God, he loved the woman. She’d intimidated him at first, but he’d come to appreciate her professionalism and to enjoy her wit immensely, even more so since Brian had left them in charge of the agency in Pittsburgh and they’d had to close ranks and rely on each other through the rough patches.

“So what are you working on that made you look so guilty? Planning on taking over the agency from Brian’s hands?” she said with a wink.

“No, just helping a friend out with his investments. It’s a pretty big operation, and it’s strategic, so I have to keep maximum confidentiality. Anyways, anything I can do for you, partner?”

“Not for me. The boss asked to see you, he wants to go through the quarterly report and the projections with you”, she replied with a tilt of her head towards Brian’s office.

Ted thanked her and grabbed the file he’d prepared when Brian had called to warn the staff of his pending arrival in the Pitts. Despite the stress and toll of running the NYC office, he still tried to make a short pitstop in Pittsburgh at least every quarter, to go over the main accounts, check and crunch the results with Ted, and generally to make sure his team didn’t forget who was calling the shots. This time, he would be in town for a couple of days.

As he made his way to his boss-slash-friend’s office, Ted almost felt a different quality in the air around him. It happened every time Brian showed up. As soon as he stepped foot in the reception hall, the atmosphere in the office shifted, as if a lever of sorts had been turned up. Everyone suddenly seemed more focused, more engaged, like the energy level had been amped up a notch. Not that the staff was slacking any other time (Ted and Cynthia made sure of that), but when Brian appeared, it seemed like they fed on his charisma, his energy, and channeled it to be on par with his level of engagement.

The team admired him, and they felt inspired and emulated by his presence – and nobody wanted to appear sluggish, or God forbid, cross him. They were all fiercely loyal to Kinnetik and most of all, to its CEO, but his sharp taking downs, his rare bursts of anger and his general intolerance for mediocrity were the stuff of legend around the office. Interns and newcomers were regaled – and warned – with his most famous _coups d’éclats,_ and none wanted to be the victim of a Kinney-esque tongue lashing _._

Ted knocked on the open door.

“Come in and make yourself comfortable, Theodore, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Brian said without looking up from the files spread on his desk. The new Eye-conic campaign, Ted recognized. As he sat in the leather seat, he took the time to observe the man on the other side of the desk.

 _Almost forty_ , he thought, _and when you look at him you wouldn’t think he’s a day over thirty_. But it wasn’t true, and ted could see the tell-tale little signs: the light ( _really light_ ) lines at the corner of the eyes, the couple of white hair (or was it an effect of the ceiling lamp?) trying to creep on the temples, the shadow of a wrinkle slowing making its mark between the eyebrows… Ted had long abandoned his creepy, sad fascination with _Brian Kinney_ , the stud of Liberty Avenue, and he’d solved his own insecurities, thanks in large part to Blake’s TLC. He had come to appreciate the man behind the façade and the friend behind the legend.

Yet there were no denying Brian’s incredible looks, his stature, his fit silhouette, his gorgeous hair ( _no thinning there)_ , his striking eyes set in a face worthy of being carved in marble. Where maturity came at the expense of beauty for a lot of people, on Brian it was only underlying it, and slowly replacing his bad-boy charm with an equally appealing mix of allure and gravitas.

More than his looks, though, what Ted had come to really admire and respect were the less visible traits that added up to his irresistible pull on others: his intelligence and wit, his creativity, his fearless qualities as a leader, his dry humor and vast culture. What other CEO could both flawlessly quote Shakespeare _and_ slip sexual innuendos in the same sentence? Ted was somewhat still in awe of his capacity to enter a room full of disgruntled clients or wary prospects, and have them eat in the palm of his hand in 5 minutes flat, while never taking his pants down or renouncing his ideas.

Brian’s vision for Kinnetik was genius, and his drive to achieve it was as relentless at it was ruthless for their competitors. And Brian had managed to not only make his own dream come true, but also to inspire his teams to share in the dream with the same fierceness. _He’d have made a formidable general on the field of battle,_ Ted surmised.

“So tell me, Theodore, how does Kinnetik fare in these troubled times?” Brian said, interrupting his reverie.

“Well, Boss, you’ll be happy to know that we fare pretty good, excellently may I say, despite the slow economic recovery. Our growth is on the right track again,” Ted said as he passed charts and graphics, “and we might even be back to our 2007 level faster than I thought, though prudence is still the word.”

Brian hummed and listened attentively as Ted continued with his exposé on the agency’s quarterly numbers, prospects, expected gains in market shares and projected revenues for the next fifteen minutes. When he was done, he looked expectantly at Brian, waiting for his questions or instructions regarding the company finances. Thus, it was no small surprise when Brian reclined back in his chair, and sent him a curve ball.

“Thank you, Theodore, for that excellent presentation, as always. Now, tell me: what’s up in good ol’ Pittsburgh?”

Ted’s brain blanked for a second. Could Brian actually be asking him to partake in…gossip? As his boss’ quirked eyebrow and amused smile, Ted shook his head and started regaling him with the latest words on Liberty Avenue’s grapevine, and about the adventures of their mutual friends. About Woody’s, where they still managed to meet for a drink every week, about the Diner, where Deb still reigned supreme whenever she felt bored and decided to bus tables, how Popperz was still running, and still a shithole (Brian scoffed/ snickered at that), and the menial tales of the out and proud of Pittsburgh. He didn’t mention Babylon. He wasn’t sure if parting with the club had been a sore spot for Brian (it hadn’t seemed, at the time, but you never really knew with him), so he avoided the subject in a conscious effort to keep the conversation light.

As he spoke, ted reflected on the many ways their lives had changed in the past ten years, slowly, almost without notice, but deeply. He himself had come far from the tweaked-out crystal-head with self-confidence issues larger than the moon to become the well-respected Financial Director of one of Pittsburgh’s most successful companies ( _no small thanks to Brian_ ), with a handsome, doting partner to boot.

A look at Brian’s smiling face showed the same profound, but almost unnoticeable changes. Sure, the man was still a success story, and his legend was well alive in Pittsburgh’s backrooms. He could still (and probably would until his death) turn any living thing - man, woman, young or old – into a pile of lustful goo ready to do his biddings, sexual or otherwise. He could still spend an entire night of dancing, drinking and fucking, and show up at work the next morning fresh as a rose. He could still command a room with his creativity and passion. And he could still scare the hell of any employee, creditor or banker with a murderous glare and a glacial word.

“ _To thy old self be true **[1]**_ ”, Brian had quoted at him once, a few years back, talking about his unwillingness to give in to any social expectation, and the man sure followed his own motto.

But for those who knew him, for those who had borne witness to Brian Kinney’s life in the past decade, there were unmistakable signs. A twinkle in the eyes to soften the usual jabs, a form of gentleness ( _God helps the fool who ever tells him **that** to his face!_ ) when he criticized an intern’s work, and underneath all, a sense of serenity emanating from him even at the most stressful of times.  Something _settled_ at his core.

Ted had also seen Brian become a bit more open with his friendship. Not maudlin or sugary, obviously, he was still Brian after all. But when some in their circle had had troubles in the past two difficult years, he’d offered whatever help he could, without automatically downplaying it. In his discussion with the rest of the gang, Ted had actually discovered some of the things Brian had done in the past for the family, and his stomach had dropped that he’d ever bought in the asshole-ish, aloof, egomaniac image Brian had built and constantly cultivated for himself.

Sure, he could be an asshole, and he had a cruel streak. But no more or less than any of them. And Ted had come to understand why he’d been the glue to their group of friends, more than Michael had ever been. It wasn’t ( _only_ ) because he was his charismatic, unapologetic self-made icon. But because he was the one looking for others from behind the scene. And Justin’s influence had only reinforced it.

At that thought, Ted decided it was time for a reunion gathering at Woody’s, and as he finished telling the latest news, he proposed it to Brian.

“Well, Theodore, it would sure be a pleasure to see the lovely Mrs Schmidt again, but I promised our very own Debbie I would attend diner at hers. And as I’d like my remaining ball to remain attached to my body, I can’t bow out. Plus Mikey and his Stepford family will be there. What do you say we reconvene tomorrow night?”

“Sure, Bri, I’ll let Blake and Emmet know, and you do the same with Michael and Ben.”

Brian nodded, and Ted gathered his documents and got up. Just as he was about to leave the room, his boss’ voice stopped him.

“Oh, by the way, Theodore, in your outgoing mail to our dear Sunshine, don’t forget to mention I’m being good during my stay here, and that I even plan to make it an early night.”

_Oh, Fuck. He knows._

Ted felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead as he turned around with a forced smile, thinking frantically.

“What mail? You mean the article I promised to send him, the one the Financial Times made on the rebound in the art market?”

Brian smirked.

“Goodnight, Theodore.”

As Ted turned back to return to his office, he grabbed his cell in his pocket and sent a hurried text to Justin.

  1. _I think he knows. Cover story is I sent you an article on the art market. Watch your ass._



 

 

[1] Hamlet, act 1 scene 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I think it kinda shows that I unconsciously used Ted’s voice to sprout sonnets about Brian’s many deeds. Oops. In my defense, I think Ted is the best character to do that: his complicated relationship with Brian Kinney, The Myth is canon, as is his evolution towards a healthier form of respect and understanding form season 4 on. Still, the man pretty much worships his boss, so I hope it’s not too OOC.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An E-rated, longer chapter this time, featuring Brian tricking.
> 
> Please note: Brian’s impressions of Paris and Parisians in this chapter are not mine, but some of my foreigner (gay and straight) friends’ when they visited the City. I just put their words, as they told them, in his mouth.

Brian - **Paris, October 2010**

 

In the last few weeks, Brian and Justin hadn’t seen much of each other. Between Brian’s trips for work, and Justin’s trips for exhibitions and openings for the gallery, they’d barely managed to spend a few days here or there in the same timezone, let alone in the same city.

They’d made do. They’d spent longer apart, after all, in less favorable circumstances for their relationship. It was temporary, and the reunion sex when they finally found themselves in the loft in New York at the same time was as passionate as it was extravagant, a measure of their missing each other’s body and presence.

 _Still, I’d rather have him under me right now_ , Brian thought in frustration as he observed the set of the shooting. Fuck Eye-conic for demanding he be there for their latest campaign’s shooting. Yes, it was an all-expense paid trip to Paris, and they’d been generous with the accommodation. As the Art Director had a fond remembrance of a certain young blond’s input from their first campaign with Brian, they’d even offered to pay for his trip.  When Justin had had to decline due to his art fair in San Francisco, Brian had almost put his foot down and refused to go. But he couldn’t antagonize one of his biggest account for a queen-out about his _boyfriend_. So he’d gone. And that was why he was stuck under the grey, rainy, Fall weather of Paris, with an incompetent director, sub-par models and a 9-hour time-difference between him and mind-blowing phone-sex.

_Fuck Eyeconic._

He could understand the rationale behind the request for his presence. They wanted to penetrate the European market, a huge step for the company, and the stakes were as high as they could get for them. They certainly couldn’t afford anything to go wrong with the ad campaign.

 _All the more reasons to let me pick the location and the models instead of imposing **this** ,_ he thought in aggravation. He looked around him. The open-aired atrium within the 17th century building certainly was a gorgeous spot, all white stones, high windows and classic French architecture. But, Brian thought, nothing new or original for potential French clients, _blasé_ as they were about their own history-laden surroundings. Julian, his Eyeconic contact for the campaign, had imposed the building because it belonged to a millionaire friend of his CEO, but, Brian thought, _it won’t cut it._

He glowered at the monitor displaying the pictures the photograph had miraculously managed to shoot in the twenty minutes the rain had relented. He sighed. None of them fit his vision.

“François!” he called at the Casting Director, “where the hell did you find these people? I passed tens of better-looking, sexier guys AND girls on my walk from the hotel this morning!”

(That had been a shock, to discover that people actually _walked_ a lot here. Obviously the streets were packed with cars, but still, there were pedestrians _everywhere_.)

He’d felt the sidewalks appeared to be the Parisians’ favorite runways. In the admittedly high-end neighborhood they were currently in, every woman he’d passed on his walk, whatever her age, had had a posture, an uncaring kind of elegance about her that caught the eye. Dressed in blacks and withes with splashes of color, or in classic tones of browns and beiges, their unique styles still popped, and they all walked like queens, be they in flats or on sky-high heels. The same could be said about the men: execs in smart jackets thrown on well-cut _jeans_ , a scarf neglectedly lopped around their neck, sophisticated in their cultivation of a faux-casual attire; or young art students, their almost-cliché looks of _l’artiste maudit_ bellied by their haughty attitude.

They all had an indefinite _something_ about them, an originality, an edge, especially the younger ones, who were supposed to be Eyeconic’s core target. And Brian couldn’t see any of that in the pictures currently passing before his eyes.

Good-looking _(bland)_ faces, in a beautiful ( _too classical_ ) environment, wearing gorgeous ( _expected_ ) designer clothes. The grey weather didn’t help either, making the entire spray of pictures flat and soulless. Exactly the kind of predictable, one-dimensional, artificial pictures and messages Brian had built his entire reputation and agency _against._ Kinnetik’s campaigns were edgy, gritty, provocative, and that was why the clients flocked to him: they wanted something different, something that would make their product pop and reach new clienteles. And with Brian, that exactly what they had. _Usually._

François had startled at Brian’s voice and was looking at him nervously when he settled his eyes on him.

“Well, what with the models?” Brian asked again.

“Monsieur Kinney, I looked at the request the client sent me,” he answered, his accent thick, a mix of French and his Mediterranean roots, “and I tried to gather to kind of models the client wanted.”

“What request?” Brian growled, pissed. He hadn’t been consulted, but he had a strong intuition about the origins of the order.

François looked in his phone and turned it around to show Brian an email from Eye-conic. Brian scanned rapidly the message: “White models only”, it read, “classical features, age 18-25 max, blue/ green eyes preferred. Guys should look masculine and muscular, and girls should be slim and very feminine…” Brian skipped the rest of the message and checked the signature. _Julian again_.

Brian seethed at the obvious racist and homophobic undertones, not mentioning the rest of the offensive requests. He _would_ have words with the guy and his bosses.  In the meantime, he had to save this mess of a shooting, and the campaign.

“Okay, François, this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to fire the current models, and from now on you will ignore any instruction not coming directly from me.” Francois nodded in understanding.

“And we’re going to go out tonight, you and me, and we will scout new models together. You’ll follow my criteria, so listen closely. I want people who are noticeable. People who strike your attention, because of their style, their attitude, or whatever else that make them stand out.”

François was nodding, so Brian leaned toward him, and planted his eyes in the man’s before he spoke, slowly and distinctly. The message had to be crystal-clear.

“I do not care – strike that, _I do not give a flying fuck_ about the color of their skin, their gender identity, their weigh or their orientation. _Compris_?”

“ _Parfaitement compris_ , Monsieur”, François replied with a wide grin.

“Good. Then come and pick me at 6 pm at the hotel, and show me your favorite spots for people watching.”

“ _Six heures_??”, François laughed, “no, that will be way too early to get what you have in mind. Eight pm would be better, if that’s okay with you.”

After ordering the crew to wrap up for the day, Brian made his weary way back to the hotel. He used the walk to really take the environment in, and to look for the edges behind the polished surfaces, the cracks in the varnish. And he found them. The crude tags under opulent carriage doors, the homeless man making his bowed-head way into a café to seek warmth, the loud group of streetwear-clad teens defiantly sharing the same spaces as the bourgeois residents, the rusty rain-pipes gurgling dirty water on the sidewalks, the decrepit façade of a timbered house between two brightly lit luxury boutiques, birds fighting for the waste floating on the Seine river at the feet of the Louvre museum… Warts on a beautiful face, some would have said. Brian, on the contrary, found the contrast fascinating and full of life. He snapped each of them on his phone for inspiration.

Once back in the comfort of his suite, he tried to call Justin. Voicemail. It was 4pm in Paris, 7am in San Francisco, and he’d hoped to catch a hold of Justin before he got up. He’d imagined his voice, low with sleepiness, and his shortening breath as he would have described in precise details whatever his (fruitful) imagination could conjure. He was getting hard at the thought. When the invitation to leave a message came, he simply said “Hey, I hope San Fran is treating you better than Paris is treating me. The shoot is a mess, and I hope I won’t have to spend more than a week here. Anyways, do everything I’d do if I was in the most gay-friendly city in the world, okay? And show California you didn’t need it to become a star. Later.”

With a sigh, he threw the phone on the bed and went to the bathroom, in the hopes a shower would relax his sore muscles, and to take care of his hard-on. He came back in the room half-an-hour later to find a text message from Justin: “Sorry, had to start early to go check the setup. Kick Paris’ butt! Love you”, to which he replied “Will do. I know.”

He poured himself a Bacardi and stepped out to have a smoke. He couldn’t see the Louvre from his balcony, but he had an incredible view on the Comédie Française and the Opéra. He’d have to come back with Justin someday, he thought for as he waited for the soothing effect of the nicotine to work its magic on his nerves. After a few minutes, he sighed and turned around into his room. He still felt high-strung, so instead of picking his phone and calling Eye-conic, he settled on sending an email. He didn’t quite trust his temper, fraught and frustrated as he was, so writing was definitely the best option. Under the polish of his carefully crafted words, he made the gist of his message as unambiguous as could be: _leave me free reign, or send fucking Julian to do the job and take full responsibility for the failure of your multi-million dollars campaign_.

The reply came right as François was calling from the reception. “Send us pictures of your vision tomorrow, we’ll see”. Brian was glad to see it was signed by the art Director of the company. _Game on,_ he smiled to himself.

He grabbed his wallet, his leather jacket and phone and joined François in the hall. The young man was dressed to the nines in elaborate but classy party clothes. _The perfect wingman for the job_ , Brian thought.

“Dazzle me”, he said as they stepped outside.

“In the City of Lights? Should be easy.” François replied with an impish grin, as he climbed in the taxi stationed in front of the hotel. It took them half-an-hour in the rush hour traffic, until François signaled the driver and they stopped. As they walked down the street, Brian’s shoulders started relaxing. Rainbow flags in the storefronts, flamboyant queens chatting away, loud thumping music in the cafés: he’d found his people. François picked a brightly colored bar and sat under the heated canopy on the terrace. At Brian’s cocked eyebrow at the installation, the man casually waved his hand.

“You know, we French love having a drink and a smoke while we bitch about,” he winked cockily, “or flirt with everyone walking down the street, but we also like our comfort.”

Brian laughed at that. How deliciously decadent.

After an hour of doing just that, they’d given François’ card to a half-dozen people. Brian had been propositioned twice as much, if the appreciative stares and sultry words sent his way were any indication. His rusty command of the French language wasn’t even needed to get the most explicit ones.

 François had apparently decided to use their quest as an excuse to introduce Brian to the habits of self-respecting gay Parisians, so they changed cafés several times, in a strange pattern the rest of the herd also seemed to abide to. Brian left himself be guided, taking in the untold choreography François obviously reveled in, the cheek-kisses he gave friends they crossed path with (before slipping some scalding remark about their clothes or hair in Brian’s ear), his discussion on the merits of that club or that bar, his chatter as his laser-like gaze scanned the crowds in search of their models. He felt strangely detached, here, as if in a parenthesis that existed outside the realm of an external world, where rules were slightly different, and where he himself was an alien, if a welcomed one. The babbles of French around him added to his feeling, and so did the numerous drinks François made him taste.

By the time they made their way inside a club François had deemed ‘interesting’, Brian was feeling loose and high. The rush of adrenaline in his veins as he entered was exhilarating. Sweating, grinding bodies around him, the throbbing bass in his chest, the strobe lights drowning all edges and blurring the frontier between reality and fantasy… it felt like a homecoming. Here, he knew the rules.

Glazed, heated eyes locked on him as he stepped on the dancefloor. He felt the smirk on his face, the predator awakening in him, and waited for his prey. He closed his eyes, and let himself drift into the music, the beat, the warm bodies around him. His head was set back, his arms lose and relaxed, and he let the bass move his hips, slowly, sensually. It wasn’t long before he felt tentative touches, fleeting contacts, there and gone, a body grinding behind him for an instant, a hand on his chest or a light caress on his ass for another. He let himself them come and go, his eyes shut, his neck lose, a small smile on his face.

When he felt a warm, lithe body settle firmly against his chest, and a mouth make its slow way from his throat to his jaw, for a thousandth of a second he thought _Justin._ But the hair didn’t feel right under his fingers, the cologne way too spicy, the moves of the hips slightly off-beat. He opened his eyes just in time to lift a finger and stop the stranger from kissing his lips.

The stranger was gorgeous. Almost as tall as Brian, a lean but toned frame, he had a beautiful metis skin, lush lips and striking clear eyes. The guy ( _‘Armond’_ or something, Brian thought dismissively) smiled openly when saw he’d caught Brian’s interest, showing a wide gap between his front teeth _. I should have François give him his card_ , he thought fleetingly, but let himself drift again with the music. And he forgot about it when the guy’s hand made its way to his waistband and pulled gently. The guy was looking at him expectantly, but his question was drowned in the music. _No need for a translator here_. Brian nodded, and let the trick guide him through the crowd. He had no idea if there were any backroom, or where. _Play by the home team’s rules when you’re on their turf._

They made their way to the bathroom, and Brian took the lead again and pushed the trick in a cubicle. He’d barely closed the door that the guy had dropped to his knees and unbuckled his belt. _Good,_ he chuckled internally, _the locals like it rough. So much for French romance._ What the trick lacked in finesse – any comparison with Justin was doomed to be unfair – he made in enthusiasm, so Brian let him service his cock for a moment, before he grabbed him and turned him around, pushing him forcefully against the partition. He roughly pulled the guy’s skin-tight pants down, and gave him a fast and cursory prep before sliding a condom and pushing in deeply.

Curse words and moans resounded in the small space as he set a punishing pace, ruthless in his chase for release, his own grunts locked in his throat. It wasn’t long before the trick starting jerking off maniacally ( _uncut_ , Brian noted detachedly, _and big)_ , and he felt the tell-tale tightening in his groin. A few pushes later, the guy was shooting all over his hand with what Brian thought was a word of ecstasy, and he followed with a grunt. He barely let himself recover before pulling out and throwing the condom in the overflowing trash-bin.

A babble of French followed his exit from the stall, but Brian simply raised his hand in acknowledgment before he made his way back to the main room. He almost immediately spotted a crowd-gazing François by the bar. _At least one of us remembers our mission for tonight_ , his alcohol-laded brain reminded him.

“So, how are my fellow countrymen treating you, Dear?” the young man said with a knowing smirk when he spotted Brian. “Was your private French lesson fruitful?”

“Not too bad, François, not too bad. But I’m afraid I was a mouthful and a tad too big for the teacher”, Brian replied without missing a beat, not hiding the smugness in his voice. François laughed out loud at that and clicked his glass on the one he’d miraculously produced for Brian.

“Let’s cheer to more private tutorials, then!”, he cheered, before turning his eyes back on the dancefloor.

“Any luck with our endeavor?” Brian asked as he sipped on his drink. _Rhum. And not too shabby_.

“Yes, actually. Between the ones we spotted earlier and here, I’ve made arrangements with a dozen of people to meet us at the shooting place tomorrow by ten. That okay for you?”

“Good.”

They had a couple more drinks, and at some point Brian felt his body pass the thin line between nicely buzzed and skunk-drunk. He signaled François, who looked at him questioningly before bursting out in laughter.

“You, my Dear, are drunk out of your mind.”

“No, I’m not. I am, in the words of the prophet Michael Hutchence[1], _elegantly wasted.”_ Brian managed to slur as François helped him up out of the club to hail a cab.

 _“_ Who?” the young man replied, a quizzical look on his face.

_Damned youngsters._

“No one. I’m drunk. See you tomorrow.” Brian said as let himself drop in the waiting cab’s back seat.

He managed to stay awake long enough for the trip back to the hotel, but as soon as he’d stumbled his way to his room, he let himself fall on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

 

***

The next day passed in a blur – and not solely due to his pounding headache. _What kind of fucking poison do they put in their drinks here?_ Brian thought as he cradled a nth cup of strong expresso in his hands. The ‘models’ François and himself had selected fit perfectly his vision, and he’d been amused to see his trick was among them. François must have noticed him after he’d left.

Their only common traits were their relatively young ages (none was over 35, that he could discern, and it made sense, in regard to the campaign’s target), and their unique and varied styles. As Brian watched over the make-up artist ( _Showcase their uniqueness, their difference, do not hide it_ ), he directed the photographer and the crew to set up camp in the carrier gate he’s spotted the day before.

When the pictures started coming in on the monitor, he smiled smugly. _There._ There it was, the edge he was aiming for. A curvy young lady, her luscious red curls framing her Botticellian features, the brand’s sunglasses held loosely in the hand she used to touch a brightly colored, rough urban tag on the white stone. A brown-haired skinny guy in a sumptuous suit, a pout on his bespectacled face as he reclined languidly against an ornate wooden door, his heavily tattooed arms above his head. His trick, his dark, olive skin a sharp contrast to his male partner’s porcelain white, glasses sparkling and their grins wide in their designer clothes as they sat on a derelict windowsill. A close up on an androgynous face, make-up subtle to make the eyebrow piercing pop above the heterochromic eyes, the pair of glasses held on the nose by the tip of a perfectly manicured finger.

Each picture a play on contrasts, each an elegant showcase of the product, and each a provocative challenge to the client: _Own yourself_.

Brian made his selection as the pictures were taken, and as the shoot came to a close, late in the night, he left the crew to wrap up to make his hurried way back to his computer. He didn’t bother with a message, and simply started sending the pictures. By the time the tenth was uploading, his phone started ringing frantically.

 _Here goes_ , he thought as he answered with a short ‘Kinney’.

It took a few minutes before he could place a word in between the raving compliments pouring down the line. Green light to keep on in that direction thus enthusiastically provided by his client, he settled back in the couch and smiled to himself.

_Still got it, Kinney._

As he let himself relax and drift in his plans for the next shooting, his phone rang again. He answered without a glance at the screen.

“Do you have any compliment left after your last call?”, he answered, smugness thick in his voice.

“… I take it you _did_ kick their ass, then?”, Justin laughed in his ear.

_Fuck. I missed your voice, Sunshine._

“Could there be any other outcome?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot it’s _Monsieur Brian Kinney_ , adman extraordinaire, I’m talking to.” The fondness was obvious in Justin’s jab.

“Damn right you are”, Brian replied, trying to hide the smile in his voice. “What about the great _JT_? Has he wooed the West Coast art scene yet? And by the way, what are you doing calling me -” he checked his watch, made a rapid calculation “- in the middle of the afternoon, don’t you have clients begging for your attention to pamper to?”

“Not right now, I don’t. I’ve sold most pieces we brought from the gallery, and a few of my own”, Justin replied happily.

Brian felt a swell of pride in his chest. Finally, the world was catching up to Justin’s talent and genius.

“I do have some sort of closing cocktail to attend tonight, though, so Ms Lin told me to take a break and rest”, Justin continued, “except I don’t feel like resting.” His voice took a silky, sultry quality. “I’d rather catch up on some other activities with my favorite CEO.”

Brian’s blood rushed down so fast he felt almost light-headed, and a growl escaped his lips before he could prevent it.

“What activities do you have in mind, pray tell?” he whispered as his posture slouched on the couch and he let his legs fall apart to ease the tension in his groin.

The sound of a belt unbuckling ringed in his ear as Justin whispered “Oh, important diplomatic talks between the old continent and the new, to strengthen a strategic partnership”.

Right as Brian was drifting to sleep afterwards, the sounds of Justin’s moan still thick in his thoughts, he couldn’t help to chuckle. 

The transatlantic bond had been thoroughly rekindled, to the full satisfaction of all parties.

 

[1] INXS, _Elegantly wasted_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my headcanon that as a 16-years-old gay boy in 1987, when INXS’s Kick album came out, Brian would have been entranced and (not a little) turned-on by Michael Hutchence’s panther-like, Jim Morrisson-esque moves and sex-appeal in the Need You Tonight video, and would have stayed a fan of the band after. Sue me, I’m old.


	17. Chapter 17

Justin - **New York, late October 2010**

 

Justin had used the five days between his return to New York city and Brian’s to touch base with Ted and make sure his plans were rolling nicely. The sale of one of his major (and most expensive) pieces in San Francisco had been a relief. Until the very last minute, he hadn’t been sure he would be able to secure the deal, but now there was no doubt. And the two commissions he’d agreed to take while at the fair would certainly help.

As he woke up on the morning of Brian’s return, he stretched languidly in their bed and let his mind wander for a few moments. He took stock of the silence, the cold sheets beside him, the empty room. It was still strange to be in the apartment without Brian. It was theirs, and his absence was an anomaly. With only 6 hours between them, and Justin free of any demanding social obligations, they’d managed to talk more, and Brian finally sounded more relaxed that he had in their previous calls. He’d sent Justin sample pictures of the campaign, and not for the first time Justin thought he would have made an outstanding photographer. Justin had tried to appraise them objectively, as he would have any piece of art. But the result was unequivocal. Brian had a graphic vision, and an eye for composition that would have made him a hit in the art world.

_He’d be a hit in any creative field anyways,_ he surmised with a self-indulgent shake of his head at his own admiration for the man he loved. He couldn’t wait to shower him with his own special brand of appreciation upon his return – and to hear the tale of his adventures in the City of Light.

He finally hauled himself out of bed and went through his morning routine – shower, coffee, subway to the gallery. He arrived there to an overjoyed Ms Lin: the art fair had lighted a spot on the gallery, and she couldn’t answer the phone fast enough. As she rushed to take yet another phone call, she pushed a newspaper in his hands, with a frantic “look at the art section!” thrown at him. His puzzled frown as he opened it turned into a cheek-straining smile when he saw the title: “New York’s Lin Gallery takes San Francisco by storm” in bold, large letters across the page. A picture caught his attention at the foot of the page. His own face, expression pensive and focused as he appeared to be listening to a bald man, under a title that read “A talented, promising artist to keep an eye on”. His incredulous giggle turned into a full-on laughter when Ms Lin made her way back to him and took his hands to pull him into a joyous dance.

After a moment where they both let they joy overflow in silly, booty-shaking moves, she resumed a more dignified, if rosy-cheeked and panting posture, and placed her hands on his cheeks. She planted her eyes in his, and used her no-nonsense voice.

“I knew they would see you for the gem you are, Dear. Now,” she continued, her eyes twinkling, “you can rub _that_ in those stuck-up, arrogant, self-centered Manhattan gallery owners’ faces! They’ll be all over you in no time, and this time, _you_ will be the one calling the shots.”

He felt his eyes mist at her words. _Five years_. She had been the first to believe in him, in his talent. She had been a relentless supporter and sponsor of his work, as well as an incredible, thoughtful mentor. She had been a friend, one of the very few he’d made in his years in the city.  And she most certainly had been a discrete but reliable motherly figure in his life – _another exceptional mother,_ he thought tenderly, _how lucky am I to have three incredible women I can call ‘mother’? –_ when he was far from home. His words were soft as they passed the knot in his throat.

“If you let me, you’ll always be my main gallery, Ms Lin.” Her smile was radiant as she took his words in, but she had a frown on her face, as if ready to object. Justin didn’t let her. “Don’t mistake my words. If they come, I will take their offer, of course I will. But they will have to share the spotlight with you.” He finished with a serious tone. She looked at him, mouth agape and eyes shining, before she shook her head slowly, her smile widening.

“You’re a menace, Mr Taylor, you know that?”

He only grinned and winked in answer.

_I might have heard that before._

He spent the rest of the day helping Ms Lin through the onslaught of emails and phone calls, from clients, galleries and artists all over the country suddenly eager to reach them. By the middle of the afternoon, he was giddy with excitement but exhausted, and Ms Lin took the phone away from him and ordered him to leave for a well-deserved rest, with a stern “do not show your face at work before Monday!”.

When he set foot in the apartment, he decided to skip his shower and paint instead, to try and assuage the energy still thrumming through his mind and body. He lost track of time, focused on his brush, the colors, his strokes, until the sound of the apartment’s door opening brought him back to reality. With a smile, he made his way out of the guestroom/studio to meet Brian in the hallway.

He didn’t have time to take in his lover’s gorgeous face before he was enveloped in a tight embrace and his lips were attacked by a greedy mouth. His ‘ _humpf’_ of surprise was quickly replaced by a moan as Brian’s right hand tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, while his left pressed him forcefully against his chest. He felt overwhelmed by his heat, his scent, his solid frame, the taste of his skin. When Brian’s hands quickly made away with his zipper and he knelt just as swiftly to swallow his straining cock, Justin only had a second to marvel at the sight before primal lust and pleasure took over his brain.

He barely whimpered when Brian’s hand detangled his own from where it had fallen in brown, silky hair, or when his mouth left his cock, but he shivered at the touch of his lips on his thigh, before they returned to his mouth for a deep kiss. Brian’s hand grabbed his hips and Justin suddenly found himself lifted in strong arms, his own arms and legs instinctively coiling around the man’s toned body, before Brian marched them purposely towards the bathroom. Lost in sensation, Justin’s brain rebooted long enough to register he was being divested of his paint-stained clothes and pushed under a warm spray of water, and to feel Brian’s tall, hot body slither against him. Again, Justin was engulfed, with no sense of space, or time, or anything other than skin, lips, scent, breath, and the fire burning deep in his gut.

No words passed between them, just the sounds of two equal forces meeting, clashing irresistibly, pushing, pulling, aimed at the same goal.  The initial push inside of him felt like heaven and hell for Justin, an overdue feeling of being complete, _at last,_ and the torture of his yearning for _more, more, now._ The fire becoming a roaring inferno, threatening to burn everything, searing Justin’s very soul. The pressure, the tension so tight they were tearing his body’s fabric. His wet hand, slipping in its search for a tether, the cold tile an unbearable shock on his overheated skin. The deep groans in his neck, the most beautiful sound in existence and a death knell, his own, the universe’s. Heat at his back, scorching, not close enough. Strength around his waist, a vise, too lose to prevent his fall.

The ( _welcomed, dreaded_ ) rush of his release felt like a tsunami, an unstoppable force of nature washing away his body, his brain, his heart.

When he regained clarity, his breath short in his lungs, his heart still rabbiting in his chest, his legs useless jelly-sticks, he was pressed against the shower’s wall, Brian’s length still snugly inside him, his body a heated armor protecting him from the world, his short pants pressed against his temple. Justin let a deep sigh escape, and chuckled.

“Hey.” Brian’s deep, sex-addled voice finally murmured in his ear.

“Hey.” He replied, just as softly.

They remained still a few more instants (minutes? hours?), the only movement Brian’s thumb softly caressing Justin’s skin above his heart. He kept the light contact as he slowly pulled out of Justin’s body, a silent, tender acknowledgment of both their need to keep the closeness between them. Softly, carefully, Justin turned around to push into Brian’s arms, his own hands seeking warm skin, his lips finding Brian’s neck, his nose burying under his ear, in his scent, and inhaled. _Home._

When they made their way into the bedroom, Brian pulled Justin to the bed and arranged him on his side, settling behind his back, his arms solid around him. Justin let himself drift, lulled by the heartbeat and slow breaths of his lover.

It was – a rare occurrence – Brian’s voice that finally broke the silence.

“Next time a client sends me abroad, please remind me to say no.”

“I will. Though you’ll do it anyway,” Justin chuckled.    

“…True. They can’t make do without my brilliant mind.” Brian mumbled in his neck.

“Of course.”

A huff and a small pinch on his hip, a silent ‘brat’.

“Now tell me how you dazzled the West Coast with your genius art. And,” Brian added as he rolled Justin on his back and gazed down at him, “tell me about that raving review about a certain young, blond, _hot_ promising artist I read in the cab?”

The phrase jolted Justin out of his lazy pose, and he widened his eyes in shock at Brian’s malicious smile. He threw his arms around his neck, and pushed him back on the bed, both their laughs resounding loudly in the room. Justin planted a loud smack on his lips.

“You saw it!! Isn’t it incredible??? I thought the guy was a local journalist, I had no idea he was a reporter for the New York Times! And what he said! God, I don’t know where to start, …”

Justin tried to be coherent as he recounted the encounter, the fair, his sales, and his new clients to Brian. His lover’s face was a picture of joy and pride, his smile unguarded and wide and Justin found his breath taken away. Overwhelmed, he stopped in his story to kiss him, deeply, passionately, and Brian responded in kind, until they were once again tangled together, their bodies one. When they eventually resurfaced, they remained close, and held each other until Brian’s jetlagged body relaxed into sleep, soon followed by Justin.

Over the weekend, they only left the bed to refuel with food (which left to hot, kinky kitchen sex) and to shower (which led to hot, humid shower sex), until they both had to make their way back to their respective jobs. With Ms Lin’s benediction, Justin spent more time in the studio than manning the front. He had commissions to get started on, and he wanted to put as much time on his work as he could before the holidays; he knew Brian did the same at Kinnetik. None of them wanted to be burdened by unfinished business when they would leave to join Gus and the girls in Toronto.

In the meantime, they fell back into their rhythm. Not their _routine_ , Justin thought, as life with Brian could never be so tedious or predictable as to deserve the word. Justin sometimes marveled at the easy state of comfort they’d attained. He felt… _content_? _balanced?_ He struggled to find a proper term to describe it, and the parallel fact that he still happily felt challenged every day.

Brian still kept him on his toes, and Justin relished it with everything he had. He sure hoped he did the same for Brian. They bickered and fought, sure. Almost daily. But gone were the drama and their need to push and hurt the other to guard their own hearts. Brian still wasn’t (and would never be) one for bouquets, impromptu candlelight diners and elaborate profession of undying love, but Justin didn’t need them anymore, hadn’t needed them for a long time. Maturity, he supposed, and mostly experience were to thank for that.

Justin felt more grounded in his own skin, more confident in his own worth. In hindsight, he realized most of his teen self’s over-confident, demanding attitude had been bravado, a deeply-embedded need to prove himself, without help or interference, a yearning to make his own way, far from his father’s disapproval, far from his mother’s loving but sometimes stifling trust in his capacities. Far from the high, seemingly impossible bar Brian had set by his example.

His first, difficult year alone in the city had paradoxically smoothened the sharper edges of that need, and he’d leant to patiently set the motions that bore fruit now, until he had worked his way up, on his own. It had settled him. Most of all, he was proud he hadn’t lost his sense of self in the process. He still knew exactly who his was, his values were intact, and so was his drive. But he didn’t need validation anymore. He had it. At almost 28, he finally was a self-standing man, and furthermore, a man on equal footing with his successful partner.

And in parallel, as he’d worked his butt off and his hand raw to prove himself to the world, a somewhat similar process had seemed to take place within Brian. Sure, Justin reflected, he still was the ruthless, ambitious man with a chip on his shoulder he’d always known, and his hidden, intimate demons would probably never disappear. And the difficult fight to keep Kinnetik afloat during the crisis had taken its toll. But Justin had a front row to Brian’s inner workings, and what he saw now was someone who’d actually started to believe in himself, in his own worth as a man and not only as a successful CEO or as a fuck-machine. A man who thus didn’t feel the constant need to hide the flaws in the armor, as least when he was with Justin. A man who could finally let his feelings shine through in gentle, unconscious touches, unguarded smiles, and yes, the occasional words of love and affection – in the privacy of their apartment. A man who laughed freely. A man who proudly introduced Justin as his partner, and gushed about his achievements, no jab, no snark attached. A man who’d gradually stopped pushing Justin away because he finally seemed to get that (maybe, someday) he’d be lovable enough to merit Justin’s love. A man who’d finally let himself trust Justin to hold his heart.

And, Justin thought, he in return had _finally_ learnt to see and understand the gesture for what it was, and he’d vowed to never let it drop again.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter with a flashback.

**Brian - New York, Mid-December 2010**

 

Brian had been lost in his thoughts ever since they’d left the girls and Gus at the gate.

They’d spent the entire week in Toronto, celebrating a late Hannukah and an early Christmas at the same time. Gus and JR, 10 and 7 years-old respectively, had been excited and over the moon at having them around, and Lindsay had even convinced Brian to stay in their house. Not that he would admit out loud, but Brian had only relented because he wanted to cram as much time as possible with his son in the short time they had together. Though Justin had had to talk him against packing their bags after a close call one morning, when Gus had almost seen an R-rated scene when he’d rushed into their room without knocking, and another time when JR had inadvertently spilt juice all over his new Gucci jeans. 

 _He would lead me anywhere with that talented mouth of his,_ he thought with a glance at his favorite twink, fast asleep in the seat beside him.

Though the memory incited a stir in his cock, he didn’t pursue it. He couldn’t seem to shake his thoughts from the conversation they’d had with Lindsay and Mel on their last evening in Canada.

 

***

**Flashback: Toronto, the evening before**

 

Brian is glad he acceded to Gus’ demand of a story.

“Aren’t you too big for that now, Sonny boy?”, he smiled.

“Yeah, but for once you’re here, and I want to hear your voice a little bit longer”, the boy replied. 

Of course he agreed, and relished the feeling of his son’s shoulder snuggled against his as he read a few pages of _Huckleberry Finn_.

He eventually made his way down the stairs, and joined the adults in the living room. He sat on the couch, and Mel poured him a glass of Beam. She did the same for Justin, and set a glass of white wine in front of Lindsay before she opened her bottle of beer. He was taking a sip when he noticed a loaded glance between the two women. Warning bells rang in his head.

He set his glass down and squared his shoulders.

“Okay. Out with it.” He heard himself say. “Whatever it is, spill.”

Mel scowled and Lindsay blushed. _Bingo._ After a last look at her wife and a sigh, Lindsay smiled sweetly at him.

“Mel and I have been thinking lately.” She stopped and made a face at Brian’s eyeroll, then sent a grateful wink at Justin when the blond bumped his rib with a sharp ‘Brian, behave.’

“Yes, _Brian_ , we have been thinking. The kids are growing, Gus is about to start middle school. And the context is slowly evolving ever since W has left power.” She took a breath. “We’re thinking about coming back home.”

The room fell silent for a second, before Justin jumped from his seat and rushed to hug both women tightly, his happy words of congratulations ringing in the room.

Brian stayed put, and took the sight before him. He couldn’t make sense of his jumbled feelings.

When the three relented and calmed down, Melanie looked at him, her eyes planted firmly in his.

“And, yes, Brian, before you ask, when we say _home_ , we do mean Pittsburgh,” she snarked.

“Did I say anything, _dear Melanie_?” he automatically volleyed back.

Lindsay stepped in before the exchange could evolve into their usual back and forth.

“We want to go back to our friends, Bri, we’ve missed everyone, JR wants to be closer to her father and her grandparents, and believe it or not, we’ve missed the city, too.” She said with an incredulous smile.

“And,” she added as she sat beside him and took his hand, “it will be the same flight time for you, except you’ll be able to visit Gus every time you’re in Pittsburgh for Kinnetik. You won’t need to make special arrangements in your crazy agenda to see him.”

Brian looked in his friend’s lovely, sparkly brown eyes. _She still looks stunning_ , he thought fondly, _for a woman_. He’d missed her as well as Gus. Though he appreciated how the distance between them had helped them both build their own lives without the weight of their weird codependency, just as it had with Mikey, she would always remain his Wendy.

He allowed a wide, open smile to his lips.

“It’s great, Linz,” he said, and she hugged him fiercely.

 

***

When they arrived at their apartment in the Lower East End, Justin left him in the main room with a murmur about a shower. He didn’t invite Brian to join him, and the man was grateful for that. Justin seemed to know instinctively by now when to let him be, to let him deal with unexpected or unwanted feelings, and to wait patiently for the time when Brian would be ready to let them out in the open. And Brian had learnt to do that, to tell him, to let him in.

He poured himself a glass and walked to the window. His hand found the pack of cigarettes sitting on the windowsill, and as he lit one, he let his eyes wander on the city. He’d loved the view the moment he’d set foot in the apartment the first time, the way the huge windows gave a 180° view over the city’s silhouette, the tops of the smaller buildings on the other side of the street, and the glimpse of the East River they allowed in the distance. At this late hour, the lights made for an enchanting view, the hustle and bustle of the street dimmed by the thick light was reduced to a thrum, the top of the Manhattan Bridge in the corner of his right eye symbolizing an artery into the city’s heart.

The city was bristling and alive under him, and he couldn’t feel anything but relieved it had accepted him, a foreign element in that huge body, an outside speck that had been integrated among its cell and not been rejected as a virus.

He’d loved New York the moment he’d first seen it on TV as a child. He’d yearned for it, for its anonymity, as a young boy trying to fend his parents’ abuse. He’d dreamt about it, its openness, as a gay teenager in backward Pittsburgh.  He’d made it his Olympus, his ultimate target of success as a young exec striving to make his way up the ladder. And when it had rejected him, he’d worked twice as hard to become worthy of it. He’d renounced it for a second, at one point, for another yearning just as strong, just as irresistible, in the form of a beautiful blond man. But the city’s gravitational force had grabbed that dream, too, and the pull on his soul had come back with a vengeance, twice as strong, until finally, _finally_ , he’d made it to the City, he’d come to its pearly gate, and he’d been accepted.

Five years later, he still loved it. Its song still made his pulse quicken, its lights still made his eyes sparkle. But now he knew it. Deeply, intimately, just as he knew Justin’s body. He knew its sounds, its smells, its cold hands in the winter, its stifling heat in the summer. He knew its flaws, its ugliness, its harshness. He knew its nooks and crannies, its dirty back-alleys, its grand avenues, its tall buildings and its slums. The city had entered his body just as he had entered hers, pervading every particle in his body, and he’d survived. He’d made it, and he’d made it whole. Or was it the city that had made him whole, he wondered. He didn’t know. But through hard work, sacrifices, and luck, his leap of faith, both with the city and with Justin had paid. 

As if summoned by his thought, his lover appeared at his side. He silently took Brian’s forgotten glass from his hand and took a sip. Brian was mesmerized by the view, but not the city’s this time. Justin’s wet hair fell disorderly on his forehead, framing his beautiful face; the streetlights below them gave his skin a translucent glow, that of a perfect ivory statue of an angel, except for the rosy hint high on his cheeks. His lovely cupid bow had retained a faint trace of the bourbon it had just touched, and a drop of water was slowly making its way down his graceful neck.

 _God_ , Brian thought with an ache in his heart, _he’s beautiful._

As if he’d heard, Justin turned his eyes to his lover’s face and Brian was imprisoned in the deep blue gaze for what felt like an eternity. Unaware of their power on him, Justin released him from the spell when he turned his eyes back on the horizon, a small smile on his lips.

Unable to resist the pull, unwilling to do so, he stepped behind Justin and allowed himself to touch him, to wrap his arms around his waist and pull the smaller body against his chest. The fit was perfect. Leaning his chin against Justin’s temple, he followed the young man’s gaze. They stood there, admiring their city, their breath falling into the same rhythm, as snowflakes started to fall, bringing a hush in their wake.

 _Once you’ve been up here you know you’ve been someplace **[1]**_ , he quoted for himself.

 “You’re thinking about it.” Justin’s murmur barely broke the silence.

_Perceptive little twat._

“Thinking about what?” he tried, but failed, as he felt more than saw Justin’s eyeroll.

“Going back home.”

“We are home.”

“No, we’re not. And you know it just as much as I do.” An affirmation again. Brian remained silent.

“You shouldn’t refrain from going after what you want, Brian.”

“When have I ever been known to deny myself anything, Sunshine?” he said in a sultry voice, his hand slipping toward Justin’s crotch in a last attempt at deflection.

“Whenever you felt you hadn’t earned it,” Justin murmured as he gently stopped the roaming hand. “but you’ve earned it, Brian.”

 _Why_ , Brian thought, why was it that their most soul-baring talks always happened in the dark, in the same position, facing the outside world and not each other? He knew why. Because while he desperately wanted to look into Justin’s eyes and find the source of such confidence in him within them, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep anything for himself, and he would be laid bare at his lover’s feet. And if the thought didn’t freeze him in terror as much as it had in the past, there was still a voice in his mind that reminded him of the darkest recesses of his soul, the ugly corners where Justin’s eyes, his light would unveil gnarled scars and unforgivable flaws.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, and turned Justin around to lay a kiss of his brow, his cheek, his lips. As the kiss deepened, Justin pushed back slightly and breathed “I love you”. Brian’s “I know” was swallowed in their embrace.

Later, as he laid in their bed, Justin deep in sleep in his arms, he thought _I’ll probably never understand why, or how much you love me, but I know._

 

[1] _Rebel Without a Cause_ (1955)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the 6 months timejump.

**Justin- NYC, mid-May 2011.**

 

It took Brian almost three months to openly admit he was considering going back to Pittsburgh, and three more to start discreetly planning the move, only putting Ted in the confidence.

Justin sensed his dithering had something to do with Brian’s fears of disrupting Justin’s career as it was taking off, so he made sure to leave the articles and raving reviews about his pieces and his art in full view. He used every opportunity to detail the growing number of commissions coming his way from all sides of the country. And he gently – and regularly - reminded Brian that he had long stopped manning the gallery for money or exposure, and was simply going there almost daily to enjoy the large studio space and Ms Lin’s conversation.

The art market was now firmly back on its track, and thanks to his exposure in San Francisco, the article in the New York Times, and Ms Lin’s continued and relentless promotion of his work as his unofficial agent, his name was becoming a reference and his pieces were in demand. Besides his faithful commitment with Ms Lin, he was now exposed in a couple of high-end galleries in Manhattan (and what a pleasure it had been to remind one of the fawning owners of their disdain for the very same art a few years before!), as well as in several states, including two places in San Francisco.

He sold as much out of New York as he did in the city and regular commissions came to him without any effort on his part, as he made sure to point to Brian every now and then. His career didn’t need his constant presence in the city anymore.

And Kinnetik’s affairs were soaring again. Thanks to the ‘ _shooting from hell’_ , in Brian’s words, Eyeconic’s European campaign had been a resounding success, and the resulting exposure had propelled Kinnetik among the top in-demand agencies nationwide. Three European companies (two of them French, a perfume designer and a fashion start-up, the last British, specialized in leatherwork) had reached out to Kinnetik for proposals in the last two months, and if he signed the accounts, Brian would have to recruit another account executive and probably a new graphist to meet the workload.

If Justin had feared for a second that such good but strategic news would incite Brian to postpone their plans, the man had made it crystal-clear that when he’d taken his decision, it was for good and nothing would change his mind.

One thing, and only one, could potentially derail their return to Pittsburgh. And it depended on one person.

Which is why he smiled widely as he opened the door of the apartment.

“Cynthia!”, he exclaimed as he leaned for a quick hug.

“Justin! It’s good to see you,” she replied, a gracious smile on her lips. “Sorry to bother you at home, but when I stepped down from the plane, I had a message from the boss to meet him here instead of the office.”

“I know”, he replied, stepping aside to let her in the apartment and divesting her of her small suitcase. “His meeting in Staten Island was running late, so he called to tell me he would come back here and to expect you. He shouldn’t be long.”

They had a few minutes for Justin to offer her a tour of the space and a drink before Brian made his grand entrance.

“Cynthia, good to know the traffic was less horrific from La Guardia than from Staten fucking Island,” he saluted her as he pecked Justin’s cheek. “And I see my perfect host of a housewife has made sure to refill your veins with their favorite fuel,” he winked at the glass of wine in her hand.

“Fuck you, Brian”, the two replied simultaneously before looking at each other in delighted surprise and chuckling.

Brian’s smirked slipped off his face.

“Why, of why, have I ever let you two meet,” he moaned theatrically, his eye turned to the ceiling in mock despair.

“Because you’d be useless without us,” came the twin reply.

Brian stared warily at them.

“Okay, not that your psychic number is not charming,” he finally as he retreated slowly to the kitchen to grab a beer, “but I feel like I’ve stepped into _The Shining_ and it’s starting to freak me out.”

Justin giggled a second time with Cynthia before making his way back to his easel. Through the open door, he could see them settle down on the couches and start discussing the account at the center of their meeting the next day.

They’d discussed it together, and Justin knew Brian had used the pretext of their growing workload in the past month to ask Cynthia to step in on some of the branch’s most important accounts. “To test her backbone”, Brian had said, “to make sure the clients take on well to her.”

“To test her inclination”, Justin had translated, “to make sure she takes on well to the city.”

Cynthia was facing toward him, and Justin knew exactly when Brian asked her to take over the New York City branch. When astonishment and shock ceded place to a light crumpling of her features, Justin saw Brian turn his head to the window to let her dry the moisture that was threatening to spill form her eyes. It only took an instant before the steely resolve and predatory, winning smile that made her Kinnetik’s best asset – beside Brian – were back firmly on her face. She didn’t jump to hug or thank him, just as he hadn’t showered her in compliments when he’d made the proposal. Neither needed this kind of effusive display.

_Had they been straight and in love,_ Justin mused, _they’d have taken the world over in a heartbeat._

“ _Mon cher,_ stop eavesdropping, it’s unbecoming of you,” Brian suddenly called over his shoulder in a sardonic tone, “and come congratulate the new head of Kinnetik’s New York branch.”

_Asshole_ , Justin thought fondly.

Justin made his way to Cynthia, and she accepted his hug. As he held her, he whispered “You’ll be great, Cynthia, they won’t know what hit them.” She chuckled and whispered back, “Of course I will, I learnt from the best.” She stepped back a few inches, her eyes boring in his as she murmured fiercely, “I’ll do him proud”, and Justin mouthed “You will” back.

“When you two lesbians- ” (“Fuck you, Brian!”) “- are finished plotting right under my nose”, Brian said with a bored tone his smile belied, “may I have my employee back, so I can talk her through the specifics of the branch?”

Not fooled a second, Justin and Cynthia separated with a conspiratorial smile, and Justin made his way back to the studio.

This time he really focused on his work, and lost track of time. When he turned his head to grab a new can of red, his eye caught a shadow in the doorway and he startled in surprise.

“Brian!”, he exclaimed, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, “how long have you been creeping on me?”

“A minute only. You were in the zone, I didn’t want to interrupt you”, the man replied as he made his way to Justin. He planted a light kiss on his lips in apology, and settled his arms around his waist from behind. He eyes fell on the easel.

“The Michigan commission?” he asked.

“No, it’s the one for the lawyers’ firm in L.A. It’s only due in a few months, but I felt inspired.” Justin replied. He looked toward the empty living room. “Cynthia left already?”

“She wanted to go to her hotel to freshen up.” Brian hummed at the painting’s layout (large gashes of deep reds and burgundy, the color scheme a specific requirement from the client), then he used his finger to push Justin’s chin up and toward him, his breath smooth as it fell on his lips. Justin shivered.

As he spoke, he started planting light kisses on Justin.

“If you can fit it on your dance card-” _lips_ “I’d like to treat two of my favorite blonds-” _temple_ “to a nice restaurant-” _jaw_ “to celebrate-” _neck_ “our latest achievement.”  His lips pressed on the spot behind Justin’s ear that never failed to make his skin crawl deliciously, and he nibbled at it, before he murmured, “what do you say?”

Justin had to forcefully round up what was left of his braincells to reply.

“How long do we have?”

“A couple of hours”, was the breathy reply in his neck.

“A tad short, but we’ll make do.” Justin managed before grabbing Brian’s waistband and dragging him through the bathroom door. “We’ll have to save time by sharing a shower, though.”

Brian didn’t seem to mind the idea.

 

After they’d met their most urgent need in the most satisfying way and they’d regained their breath, Justin took the bottle of shampoo and started lathering Brian’s dark hair. He loved carving his fingers through the thick mass, especially in these kinds of post-sex moments, when an orgasm had left his lover’s body soft and pliant. Brian almost purred at his ministrations, moving his head at the lightest touch, and Justin took his time, nudging him under the spray to rinse when he was done. His hair taken care of, Brian picked the bottle from Justin hands to return the favor. Justin let his head fall back and his eyes close, and stretched like a languid cat under Brian’s caress. He slowly blinked when Brian spoke.

“So, what was all that whispering between you two earlier? You looked like two gossip drags during Babylon’s regretted Big Dick Night.”

Justin smiled. Brian could scoff all he wanted at the notion, but he liked gossip just as much as the next queen.

“Nothing big. She just told me she would make you proud, and I told her of course she would, that’s all.”

“Obviously she will, or I’ll have her head on a plate,” Brian replied dismissively. “She was the only logical choice. My gal here has potential, but she’s too reckless, too green still. She needs a steady hand, even more so if we get a new recruit. I don’t want any cat fights in the team. She’ll keep them in line.”

Justin remained silent, letting him vent.

“Plus, she did well in keeping the clients when things were rough. Did I tell you she actually made Leo Brown apologize for even _considering_ downsizing his account with us?”, he chuckled incredulously as he guided Justin under the spray.

“She learnt from the master.”

“That she did. She’s driven, she’s focused, she’s ambitious, and she doesn’t care about a private life. She’s basically me in heels. Or at least,” he corrected with a small peck on Justin’s lips, “she’s me a few years ago.”

“And who better to replace Brian Kinney than Brian Kinney?”, Justin smiled.

“Exactly.”

They ended up being late for the dinner, but Cynthia, being Cynthia, had anticipated their tardiness and didn’t even frown. As they raised their glasses to Cynthia’s new position, Justin couldn’t help but feel the pieces of his puzzle clicking into place.


	20. Chapter 20

**Brian - NYC, a month later  (June 25 th, 2011).**

 

A month after the cat had been left out of the bag, at least for Kinnetik’s employees, and two months before they were supposed to make their comeback to lovely Pittsburgh, Brian woke up alone in the bed. The clock on the bedside glared 6:15 am at him. He groaned and settled Justin’s abandoned pillow over his head to try and block the bright light flowing through the room’s window. The temperature was cool, still, but he knew a humid, suffocating heat would soon make everything and everyone in the city slow and sluggish. He didn’t look forward to the commute between the loft and his air-conditioned office. The single perspective of it made him kick the light sheet laying on his butt-cheeks to the end of the bed and starfish a bit more on the mattress, to expose as much flesh as possible to the light breeze coming from the open door.

It would be nothing like it had been in Jamaica a few weeks before, thankfully. He’d travelled there for a couple of days, for Brown Athletics’ latest sports-underwear campaign featuring _Usain_ freaking _Bolt_. How cool was that? Of course, he couldn’t skip that one and for once, he hadn’t wanted to. Especially as it had fell on his fortieth birthday, and it had spared him the onslaught of humiliating, cheerful phone calls from his friends. He’d had enough with the emails and e-cards, each more eye-searing and garish than the other. _U_ _gh_. He’d almost barfed at Michael’s animated one, the one with a singing, booty-shaking, naked comic Rage that reminded him that “He was still a superhero”. He had a strong suspicion Justin had had a hand in that one, even if the brat hadn’t admitted anything and had made minimal fuss about his old age on his birthday itself or since. 

Brian, on the other hand, had gone all out on Justin’s twenty-eighth birthday a few months back. He’d pretty much kidnapped him in front of the gallery one evening, and they’d spent three days fucking, drinking, and dancing – in that order - in the Bahamas, a welcome respite from New York’s winter cold and the punishing pace they both had had in the previous weeks, and ever since.

Fuck, he was spent. They’d made it an early night the evening before, exhausted by the frantic demands of their professional lives, and Brian had slept a full eight hours for once, but he was bone-tired. He tried to burrow his head in the pillow again, but after a few minutes of pointless tossing and turning in the empty bed, he sent a mental curse to Morpheus for his uncooperativeness and with a heavy sigh, he sat up.

He stumbled sleepily into the main room and made a beeline for the full coffee pot on the counter, in the hope caffeine would kick him into gear. After a few searing sips, his brain eventually came back online and he finally noticed Justin sitting at the coffee table, eyes riveted to the TV screen, sound so low Brian, in his zombie-like state, hadn’t registered it at first. A bit more awake now, Brian stretched his nude frame languidly, deliberately, trying to capture Justin’s attention and to convince him to go back to bed for a light (or not so light) morning workout to start the day. This kind of move never failed to get him up and running.

Except Justin didn’t react. He didn’t twitch a muscle. He didn’t even show the smallest sign he’d noticed his presence in the room, Brian noted disgruntledly.  Unused to not having his lover’s undivided focus when he displayed so much flesh, he resolved to investigate what had so raptured Justin’s attention.

He padded slowly to the couch, and settled beside Justin, his eyes on him, before stretching again in an attempt to make the man notice his state of undress.

“Hey.” Justin said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

_Hey? That’s it, Sunshine? Don’t you see my cock is awake too?_

No reaction.

Grumbling a ‘Hey’ back under his breath, Brian finally turned his eyes to the TV.

 ** _News alert: NY assembly passes Marriage Equality Act_**.

A glance at Justin – eyes unyielding on the TV. A look back at the screen – scenes of joy in front of the Governor’s building, kissing couples. A glance at the scrolling banner – **_Gov. Cuomo has signed the legislation late last night_** ;

His mind blanked. His heart raced. He felt rattled to the bone, breathless. As if the world he’d known for the past forty years _(Fuck!)_ had taken a step to the side overnight, leaving him unbalanced, askew.

“They did it.” A whisper on his left.

“Yeah.” _Fuck_ , Brian thought, _they actually did._

“I was sure they would fuck it up again.”

“Yeah.” _They usually do,_ he thought bitterly.

They fell quiet again, the silence only broken by the low sounds coming from the TV. Brian turned the volume up a notch.

“… the 36-26 bipartisan vote was signed into law in the following hours by Governor Cuomo. It was met with strong reactions nationally, from both side of the aisle, but the atmosphere where I stand in front of the Governor building is one of joy and relief…” a journalist was saying on the screen, surrounded by numerous rainbow flags raised high in the air, “… a lot of the couples around me plan to apply for a license and to get married as soon as the law comes into effect a month from now…”

Brian tuned her out as he considered her words. His brain was fully awake and operative now, and his thoughts were sharpening, coming to full clarity. Something settled in him.

A movement on his left. He turned his head to Justin’s eyes boring into his, a carefully neutral expression on his face. He couldn’t bring himself to form words. _Not a third time._ But he had to ask.

He raised an eyebrow and tipped his head toward the TV. _What do you think?_ his silent question to Justin.

The slight tension disappeared from Justin’s eyes, replaced by something fond. He kept an impassible face, though the upturn of his lips gave him away. He looked straight at Brian’s eyes, and shrugged, _Why not?_

Brian nodded, _Okay_ , and reclined comfortably in the couch, his left arm extended at his side. Justin settled under it, and his contented sigh made Brian’s skin shiver.

They stayed still for a minute, both lost in thought, taking their new reality in, before Justin’s fingers started tracing slow patterns on Brian’s chest. Justin only had his boxers on, and he’d apparently picked up the shirt Brian had carelessly thrown on the floor the night before when they’d gone to bed. Brian let his eyes roam on Justin’s figure, drinking in his relaxed stance, his milk-white complexion, the boyish yet masculine appeal of his bare legs curved on the couch. 

The combination of his skin peeking through the open flaps of the shirt, his fresh, sweet scent, his softness where their sides were pressed together, his fingers making their feather-light, unhurried dance on his stomach, and yes, the weight of the decision they’d just silently taken ( _maudlin as that may be_ ) stirred the always-present embers at Brian’s core.

Justin noticed, because he always did, the hitch of his breath, the quickening of his heart where his blond head rested, and the obvious re-awakening of his body’s most sensitive part. Without a word, he pressed his fingers a little more firmly on Brian’s skin, their pattern turning more deliberate, their target clear but their path there languid. He caressed Brian’s happy trail, circled his navel lightly, let his short nails brand the thin skin over his hipbone, moving down, skating the frontier between his thigh and crotch, and circling back up in a maddening circuit.

Brian let his head fall back on the couch to enjoy the ministrations, and felt Justin’s hair tickle his neck, followed by soft, light kisses on his collarbone, up his neck, under his ear, down again, in a dance of their own. Brian let the tease proceed, reveled in it, until his entire body felt electrified, his skin a live wire, sizzling current buzzing under the surface and coiled to be released in a bolt of lightning.

Unable to wait any longer, he squeezed the fingers he’d unconsciously been raking through blond hair to bring Justin’s head at eye level, and he smashed their lips together, demanding entry, swallowing his lover’s moan and taking, _taking_ until they had to come up for air, plunging back, drowning, as their tongues met, caressed, fought avidly.

He shifted Justin’s body more closely, and could feel his hard-on against his thigh, just as much as he could feel his own cock straining, throbbing between his legs. He pushed the shirt aside on Justin’s shoulder to gain access to the sensitive spot where it met his neck, nibbled it, suck on it, driven mad by lust at his scent, his warmth, his softness. An impatient motion had Justin divested of his boxers, and with a grunt he lifted the lithe body in his lap, never taking his mouth from his lover.

He fumbled for a second in his quest for the stack of lube and condoms they always hid between the pillows, jolting their bodies, and Justin chuckled when he ripped the lube pack open so impatiently he spilt half of it between them. _Don’t care_ , his lust riddled mind thought. The chuckle turned into a low groan when Brian pulled his body tightly against his chest and their cocks met and pressed in the deliciously wet mess between them.

In a daze, Brian smeared his fingers in the spilt lube and brought his hand around Justin’s body, and the groan turned into a moan when he circled his hole and finally pressed in. Justin’s body opened beautifully, unresistingly and Brian couldn’t prevent his own body reacting to the feeling of his lover’s body’s pull, its demand for more, so he gave in and added another finger, and a third, until they were buried deep and Justin huffed impatiently, his hips shifting in short, aborted moves to take them even deeper.

When Justin’s motions became restless, Brian gave him the open condom and the blond rolled it hurriedly on his rigid cock, and squeezed his base tightly as he lubed him. His patience obviously spent, he didn’t wait for Brian to pull his fingers out as he slowly rose to his knees, letting them slide out of his body, and sinking on him immediately. _Impatient, slutty little twink,_ was Brian’s last coherent, fond thought as his mind was taken over by Justin’s heat.  

He strained not to close his eyes, refusing to miss a single thing as he looked ravenously at the man in his lap, head-thrown back, lips parting and biting on silent moans, eyes half-closed as he chased after his pleasure with long, slow movements of his hips. The view was exquisite, exhilarating. Brian lifted his own hips in a deliberate counterpoint, bringing his cock even deeper, searching, until Justin’s eyes suddenly widened and he gasped. _There._

Justin brought his arms around Brian’s neck, his smile wide, a laughing challenge in his eyes, as his movements became more pointed, more forceful, determined to bring Brian along for the ride. _Right there with you, Sunshine,_ he thought as he circled Justin’s waist in a strong embrace and used the leverage to hit his prostate relentlessly. Their gasps and short breaths rang in the room as Brian felt the tremors start in Justin’s muscles and the heat grow where his cock was trapped between their bodies. A final push had Justin’s back tense like a bow, his release flooding the space between them, and Brian finally let himself fall, the flash of light behind his eyelid a sweet and welcome reward.

He opened his eyes after a minute, to the weight of Justin’s boneless body slumped against his chest, his breath on his neck, and Brian’s eyes fell on the TV over his lover’s shoulder, the screen still full of scenes of celebration.

 _Now, **that** is a nice way to start a day_, he smiled to himself.


	21. Chapter 21

**Justin- NYC, early August 2011.**

 

They didn’t get married on the exact day the law came into effect. There was absolutely no way Brian would mingle with all the happy couples and their colorful retinues making a big production of it that day. He’d rather be caught dead than to partake in that kind of ‘ _over-the top, heteronormative, ridiculous public display of sentimentality, Justin, we’re fags, not some maudlin dykes, for fuck’s sake._ ’ Justin had agreed with a laugh.

Instead, they waited a couple of weeks to let the worst of it pass, and one Monday night, they met at the clerk’s office a few blocks down their flat and applied for a license, and convened to meet again there the next day.

Justin had seen Brian choose his suit carefully that morning, a minimal acknowledgment of the solemnity of the step they would take later that day, so he’d taken the time to select one for himself. They would meet Ms Lin in front of the building. They’d asked her to be their witness, as she was the only person they both knew in the city that they liked enough and would not babble the news before they were willing to share it. The decision was theirs, so was the moment, and Justin felt like keeping it between them for as long as he could. All the more so that he knew Brian didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Nevertheless, as Justin stood in front of the clerk’s door, the magnitude of it suddenly hit him: _I am about to marry Brian Kinney_. The thought was staggering, as was the elation blooming in his chest. Overwhelmed, he sent a wide, helpless smile to the man standing at his right hand. And the sight of him, tall, gorgeous, his posture confident, both added to the swirling of emotions wrecking his brain and settled warmly in his chest. Unaware of the torrent that was passing through his core, Brian turned to look at him and said gently “Ready, Sunshine?”. Justin could only nod feebly, unable to form words.  Brian must have seen a trace of something in his eyes, as a fond, gentle smile graced his lips.

“Just remember to say ‘Yes’ when the clerk asks, as I’m afraid a nod won’t suffice,” he chuckled.

Justin chuckled too as his nerves settled down and he shook slightly his head to clear his ideas.

_Right._

They hadn’t prepared vows. Brian had asked if Justin wanted to, but he’d declined, saying “it’s never been about words between us”, and Brian had laughed knowingly at that.

So, when they entered the office, the clerk simply checked their identities and Ms Lin’s, and asked if they wanted to put rings on each other’s fingers as she collected their formal agreements. Just as Justin was about to reply they didn’t have any, Brian thanked the lady and produced a small, dark red box from his pocket. Justin had only seen it twice in his life, but he could never have forgotten it.

 _I should have known,_ he thought. _How could I not know?_

He wasn’t surprised at all, he realized, even as the significance of the symbol weighed on him. Because that was Brian in all his layers, right there in front of him. The man who had pushed him from day one to live for himself and no other, draped in his fuck-all attitude, his pride his only banner; the man who had taken risks and had been rejected, but had yet held on to a scarf once, now two rings, on the off-chance that one day, eventually, he’d be granted his wishes.

_You’ll never cease to amaze me, Brian Kinney._

 “Mr Justin Taylor,” the clerk’s voice said, “do you accept Mr Brian Kinney as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Yes.” He said with as much conviction as he could.

The beautiful, elegant platinum band settled coldly on his finger.

“Mr Brian Kinney, do you accept Mr Justin Taylor as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Yes.”

And in that simple word and in Brian’s eyes as Justin slid the ring on his finger, Justin read, plain as day, ‘ _No excuse, no apology, no regret’._

“I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

The soft, gentle kiss Brian placed on his lips echoed in Justin’s memory ( _a glimpse of Brian in a beautiful black suit, a loving smile on his beautiful face bathed in harsh white light, soft words in his ear_ ) and he felt the contentment the memory incited etch deep in his bones and settle before the image passed and he lost himself in his husband’s embrace.

They didn’t notice Ms Lin’s whoops of joy.


	22. Chapter 22

**Brian - New York, Late August 2011.**

 

They hadn’t thought about it.

When Michael had called Justin to discuss the next issue of _Rage_ , and he’d asked to see the drawings through the computer’s camera, _they just hadn’t thought about it._

His reaction hadn’t been immediate. It had taken a few minutes of them chatting excitedly in the background while Brian read a report on the couch before he’d heard Michael voice exclaim.

“… Justin?? What’s this on your finger? No, put it back up, in front of the camera! Is that…. Is that a **wedding ring**???”

And Justin hadn’t had the time to say anything, to try to diffuse or explain before Michael’s voice had rang loudly.

“ **Brian Adam Kinney!!!** I know you’re listening! Get your ass in front of the camera _right now_ and explain yourself!!”

_Fuck._

Brian sat the file aside on the couch and levered himself up. He made his way to lean behind Justin, his hands on the backrest of the chair, his own ring in plain view of the screen where Michael’s stormy, sullen face was waiting.

“Hello to you too, Mikey,” he said cockily.

“Don’t _Mikey_ me.” His best friend sputtered, his voice shrill. “What the Hell, Brian, did you two seriously get _married_ without telling any of us?”

“Not that it’s anyone’s fucking business, _Michael,_ but yes, we actually did.”

“Not anyone’s….?? But I’m your _best friend_ , Brian!” he whined, “you were my best man when I married Ben, and I was supposed to be yours!”

 _I guess you were_ , Brian conceded to himself, thinking about their first aborted shot at matrimony six years prior. But Michael’s petulant tone and his own annoyance at being found out so soon grated on his nerves, so the coldness showed in his voice.

“Except we’re not fourteen-years-olds trading comics anymore, so just say ‘congratulations’ and let it slide, Mikey.”

The expression on Michael’s face was a mix of shock and guilt, but he still had a mulish tone when he replied.

“Yeah, sorry, congratulations. To you too, Justin. I’m happy for you both, I am. But I would have been even happier if I’d been there with you.”

Brian rolled his eyes.

“Hey, hold on a second!” Brian didn’t like the sudden joy in Michael’s tone and eyes. “I know! Next time you’ll come to Pittsburgh, we’ll have a party! I’ll ask Emmet to –“

“Don’t even think about it”, Brian and Justin replied in unison. Brian smiled down at the blond and let him continue.

“We don’t want any party. And Michael? We would really, _really_ appreciate it if you didn’t spill the news to anyone. Not even to Ben. We’d rather tell them ourselves, and for now we would just like to enjoy newlywed bliss without interference.”

_Well played, Sunshine, you sure know how to reach an audience. Appealing to his romantic side is genius, it could even work._

Michael grumbled an agreement, and Brian let them finish their Rage-related discussion.

A few minutes later, Justin joined him on the couch.

“He’s going to spill the beans, is he?”

“With you lovely plea, it might give us a few days’ respite, but it’s Michael we’re talking about so of course he will.”

“So we’re screwed?”

“We’re screwed.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Brian - NYC, a week later.**

 

It actually took a full week ( _congrats, Mikey!_ ) before the fallout happened. But when it did, all hell broke loose.

It started with the shrill ring on his phone on the bedside table a Saturday morning. Brian looked wearingly at the clock ( _8 am, what the hell?)_ , cursed Graham Bell and Steve Jobs and settled to ignore it by pushing his head under the pillow. It stopped. And started again after a few seconds.

The third time it happened, Justin grumbled “pick the fucking phone up” from his resting place between his shoulder blades, and he dislodged him with a small shake as he pushed on his elbows to grab the demonic object. **_Debbie_** flashed menacingly on the screen.

 _Crap_.

“Debbie, to what do I owe the –“

“Don’t you fuck with me, Brian, I’m not in the mood” came her loud, tempestuous tone.

“Fuck with…? Deb, I would never-“

“I said cut it out, Brian. Do you know what I just learnt?”

_Here goes._

“I have a strong suspicion.”

“So it _is_ true? You and Sunshine really got hitched?”

“Yes, Debbie,” Brian replied, and hastily pulled the phone away in a desperate attempt to save his eardrum from the joyful, piercing shrill that erupted from the receptor. He felt Justin stifle a laugh in his skin, where he’d snuggled back against his arm.

_Beware to rejoice too early, twat._

When the noise subsided, he put the phone back to his ear, in time to catch Debbie’s suspiciously trembling voice.

“…oh Brian, I don’t know if I want to strangle you or kiss you first, I’m so proud of you, but I’m pissed, too! You know I love you, you fucker, so don’t you ever do anything like that again!”

 _You’re in for another surprise, Deb,_ he thought, anticipating her face when she’d realize they were back. She would skewer them.

He interrupted his substitute mother as she started listing all the reasons why he’d made the right choice in choosing Justin - newsflash: he knew – and how they would have a huge party when they came visit – not if they could help it. He promised to pass on her love to Justin, as if the little shit hadn’t eavesdropped on the entire conversation, and settled his head back on the pillow with a tired sigh. As much as he loved her, Deb was _exhausting_.

“She gave you a hard time?”, Justin murmured, tightening his arm around Brian’s waist.

“The usual. I’m an asshole, you’re perfect, she loves us.”

A huff of laughter was Justin’s only reaction, so he relaxed and let himself drift back into sleep.

For five blessed minutes.

It was Justin’s phone, ringing from the other side of the bed that startled them out of their slumber this time. If Brian wasn’t mistaken, _Mamma Mia_ was Jennifer’s personalized ringtone.

_Time for the payback, brat._

“Won’t you answer your lovely mother, _mi amor?”_ he said sweetly.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Come on Sunshine, Mother Taylor’s waiting”, he chuckled.  

Justin purposely knocked his pointy elbow in Brian’s ribs as he turned around with a grumble to grab his phone.

Brian nonchalantly rolled on his back to listen to their conversation. Thanks to his proximity, and to Jennifer’s obviously pissed mood, he could just discern out some of her words.

“Hey Mom, how are -”

_“Justin! … Debbie…. True??”_

“Well, Mom, yeah…”

_“…!!!!... tell… mother!”_

Brian saw a pink tint rise of Justin’s cheek as he squirmed and passed a nervous hand at the back of his neck.

“We didn’t want to make a big deal of it -”

_“…deal? … wedding!... son!!”_

She must be really pissed to lose her manners and yell, Brian thought as he met Justin’s eyes. The blond shrugged and made a childish grimace when Brian smugly mouthed ‘Karma’ at him.

“Mom, we’ve been together eleven years, it’s not like it changes anything! We just wanted to be alone, the two of us, and have this moment for ourselves.”

 _Fuck_. She’d calmed down, and Brian couldn’t hear her anymore.

“Yeah Mom, me too, more than you know.”

“…”

“Love you too Mom.”

“…”

“Sure. Hold on a second.”

Justin turned to Brian, a laughing spark in his eyes as his hand covered the mic.

“She wants to talk to you, _mi amor_ ”, he said, sugary-sweet.

_Uh, oh._

Brian took the phone from his hand, sent Justin a look ( _brat_ ), and braced for impact.

“Hello, Jennifer.”

“Hello, Brian.” _Fuck._ She had her WASP-y, polished voice _._ He was about to be chewed up and spit out, and not in a good way.

“I heard from Debbie that not only you and my son had eloped, but that you didn’t intend to celebrate your wedding next time you visit Pittsburgh?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, listen to me, _Dear._ You both cheated me of my first dance once,” he winced at her pinched tone, “but it won’t happen again. You _will_ have a party, and you _will_ have a dance, _both of you_ , with your mother and mother-in-law. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” No need to resist. _Like son, like mother_. Craig excepted, he’d never been able to resist the Taylors.

 “Then we have an agreement?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Perfect. Oh, Brian?”

“Yes?”

“I’m overjoyed for you both. And I’m really, really glad I _finally_ get to have you as my son-in-law.”

“Thank you, Jennifer,” he managed around the lump in his throat. “I am, too.”

“As you should be.”

He chuckled at her laughing tone as they said their goodbyes, and hung up.

Justin burst out in a loud guffaw.

“Oh my God, Brian, you should have seen your face!” he exclaimed in unbridled mirth, tears beading at the corner of his eyes from his laughter, “I’ve never seen you so meek, not even with Debbie! _Yes, Ma’am, sure, Ma’am”_ he sing-sang in a poor imitation of Brian’s voice.

“I’ll show you meek”, Brian snarled as he tackled the blond on the bed and started tickling him.

They scuffled for a minute, Justin’s shrieks of laughter music to Brian’s ears, until the young man finally cried for mercy and they fell panting against the mattress, their limbs helplessly tangled together. After a moment, Justin lifted his head from its place on Brian’s arm.

“Seriously, though, what did you agree to? Did she ask for your balls?” he said, slyly taking said part of Brian’s anatomy in his palm.

Brian groaned.

“No. But she will have her first dance.” He replied, prompting a new bout of giggles from Justin. “With the both of us. Now stop that,” he growled with a pointed look at Justin’s hand and his own interested cock, “if you don’t plan to do anything about it.”

“Who said I had no plan?” Justin replied with a sultry look.

It turned out that even shaken with a fit of giggles here and there, Justin’s blowjob remained unrivaled.

And if they eventually had to turn off their phones to dodge Lindsay’s (“she’s _your_ mentor!”; “but she’s the mother of _your_ child!”), Daphne’s (“she’s _your_ best friend!”; “but she likes _you_ best!”) and Cynthia’s (“she's gonna tear us both a new one”; “right”) calls, that was par for the course.

Even if that meant they had a combined 28 calls, 76 texts, and 32 mails when they turned them back on.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Justin- Pittsburgh, late September 2011**

 

They made their way back to Pittsburgh right when the heat of summer had started giving in to the first signs of fall.

It wasn’t a big affair, their move, as they’d decided to keep the apartment in New York to use as a base camp whenever they would be in the city, and Brian would have to spend a week there each month, at least for now. So it wasn’t a definitive goodbye to the place, nor was it a complete hello to the loft on Fremont. They’d still used it for their rare weekends and vacation gateways whenever they’d been able to visit their family in the past five years.

Still, Justin thought as he settled their light suitcase near the door and took the large room in, being back in the loft felt like the homecoming it was. While clean and tidy as it had always been, the space, the beautiful furniture didn’t just appear minimalist. It felt empty, lifeless. No unfinished painting on the easel beside the dining table; no tidy files on the desk; no coat on the rack by the door.

 _That will change soon_ , Justin thought as he made his way to the closet to hang the few items of clothing they’d brought along.

 He heard the door roll for Brian, returned from picking up the Corvette at the garage, and his steps as he joined him in the bedroom.

“Hey”, Brian said as he wrapped his arms around Justin and nuzzled his neck, “I checked the mail box. The courier has left a slip, your shipment will be ready to collect by Monday.”

Justin hummed in acknowledgment. He had left most of his works with Ms Lin for safekeeping and to expose as she saw fit, but he’d sent back some of his favorite ones, his unfinished pieces, as well as a few blank canvases from his favorite dealer in New York. He had a few commissions due for the end of the year, and a couple of ideas had been nagging at him for his personal works, but he felt no hurry. He had more pressing matters to attend to once he would be alone.

Brian had left his side to let him finish unpacking and had settled on the couch to check his emails, so Justin called, “when do you have to be at the office again?”

“I’ve asked Ted to set a team meeting at 9 am Monday, to terrorize my minions into obedience now that I’m back. They think I’m only coming in next week, so I thought I would take them by surprise. That way they won’t have had time to plan some revolting welcome party, and if they have, I’ll nip the idea right in the bud.”

Justin smiled. He knew for a fact _(Thanks, Ted)_ that the team had hung a glittery ‘Welcome back, Boss!’ banner in his office the week before, and that champagne had been chilling in the breakroom’s fridge for two weeks. _They know you too well to be thwarted by your cunning schemes, Dear_. And knowing her, Cynthia had probably made sure the banner was the worst kind of eyesore, as obnoxious and garishly pink as humanly possible, as a parting gift. Ted had promised Justin he would try and send him a picture of Brian’s face when he saw it, and Justin couldn’t wait.

He finished setting their garments in the closet and made his way to the kitchen to check what was left in the cupboards, beside poppers. He was standing in front of the empty fridge, trying to mentally list what they would need for the next few days, when Brian’s body pressed against him and his velvety voice murmured in his ear.

“As we don’t have anywhere to be in the next couple of days, and nobody knows we’re here, what do you say we reacquaint ourselves with the _numerous_ flat surfaces of this place?” 

He punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, and Justin shivered as his tongue slowly licked a path between his ear and his collarbone. Brian nipped at his neck.

“It’s been a _long_ time since I’ve had you begging against the pillar or flat on your back on the table,” he continued as Justin felt his length press his ass, “and, if memory serves, the water pressure here is even better than in New York.”

Justin let his neck fall to the side to leave Brian more space to explore.

“Brian,” he said, his breath shorter, “if we don’t do groceries we’re going to starve.”

“Sunshine,” the man replied sultrily, “haven’t ever you heard of meal delivery? Besides, if you’re really,” a bite on his neck, “ _really_ good, I might even be convinced to accompany you to the shop,” a press of his crotch, “ _after.”_

 _Well_ , Justin thought, _marriage is about compromise, isn’t it?_

They did end up doing groceries together a few hours later, and if Brian bitched and moaned the entire time, it was with a sated expression on his face.

 

***

Interlude

The picture Justin received the next Monday was hilarious, Brian’s face a mix of disbelief and outrage as the gayest boa possible was being set around his neck and his eyes were staring in horror at the pinkest, sparkliest banner ever. Justin couldn’t wait to frame it.

He sent a text to Ted ( _Did he lay everyone off?)_ who replied immediately _(Nah, he just threatened to put a hit on the idiot who had the idea for the banner - I’ll warn Cynthia -  but he’s more bark than bite. I think?)._

 _Let’s hope so,_ he thought as he grabbed his keys and his satchel, _or I’m in deep trouble._

He was on the road when he received Ted’s message; “ _I might have spoken too fast. He’s just made the art department shit their pants, and an intern cried_.” 

_Oops._


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: E-rated chapter featuring Brian and Justin tricking together

**Justin - Pittsburgh, late September 2011**

 

When Brian arrived home from work later that week, Justin felt a thrumming energy around him as soon as he passed the threshold and pecked him on the lips.  His restlessness was palpable as he paced around the loft, first to the room to ditch his suit, then to the TV set where he spent two minutes impatiently flipping channels, then again as he sat at his desk and drummed his fingers nervously as he waited for the computer to boot.

Justin sat silently at the counter, his latest panels forgotten in front of him, as he observed his husband.

The third time Brian huffed his way into the kitchen to check under the lid of the pot Justin had left simmering gently on the stove, he finally piped up.

“What with the Julia Child routine?”

“Nothing. I’m just hungry.”

“More like _hangry_ ,” Justin jabbed back as he walked to the man and returned the lid to the pot. He turned around and with a teasing smile, he added, “that’s what you get when you systematically deprive yourself of fulfilling, energy-laden carbs”.

“Thank you for the PSA, _Doctor Taylor_.” Brian scowled. “But that’s quite rich, coming from the twat who worships my abs every chance he gets. As if such a work of art”, he took Justin’s hand and pressed it against his flat stomach, “didn’t require discipline.”

Justin laughed. He readily agreed that he loved Brian’s toned, lean body, and his rigorous daily workouts were certainly to thank for that.

“It doesn’t, when you have a fast, _young_ metabolism like mine”, he finally replied, with a bite to Brian’s jaw and a wiggle of his butt.

The tall man growled something that sounded like ‘brat’ as Justin disengaged from his arms and settled against the counter.

“Besides, I have an idea for burning calories tonight.”

“Is that so?”, Brian replied, a predatory look on his face as he stepped back against Justin. “Tell me more about it.”

“I thought that now that Brian Kinney, CEO extraordinaire, is back in dear old Pittsburgh, it might be time for Brian Kinney, famed stud of Liberty Avenue, to make his long-awaited comeback too.”

Brian looked at him questioningly.

“What about wanting to settle back without everyone on our back?”

“They’ll find out sooner or later”, Justin replied, “and wasn’t that the point, to be near our friends and family again? So, I surmised we could surprise them all at the same time, tonight, during their weekly night out at Woody’s.”

“My, Sunshine, what a cunning little piece of queer you’ve become”, Brian smiled slyly, his voice low.

_And you don’t know the half of it_ , Justin thought as Brian’s arms lifted him atop the counter for some pregaming. 

 

The gang’s reaction was a mix of excitement (Emmet and Linz), joyful annoyance at the surprise (Michael and Mel), and simple warmth (Blake and Ben). Ted would probably be in the doghouse with Michael for a couple of days, though, for not telling him about their return.

They all cheered and toasted at their return, and they soon fell into their easy habits of conversation, pool games and people watching as they caught up. The girls left after a couple of hours to relay the baby-sitter, and they made plans to have with them, Gus and JR the next Saturday. Of course, they also had to promise to show up at Deb’s next family dinner to abate Michael.

Justin tensed when an hour later, a tipsy Michael suggested a trip to Babylon, “for old times’ sake”, but Brian nodded with a smile, and off they went. The bouncer recognized Brian immediately and let them all pass with a joyous “welcome back, M. Kinney!”, to the disgruntled envy of the numerous patrons waiting in line.

As they made their way inside the club, Justin saw the thumpa-thumpa work its magic on Brian. His posture relaxed, his head stood taller, and a carnal grin appeared on his face. The way he moved shifted almost indistinctly, but his motions took a feline quality, each of them precise, deliberate, controlled. The crowd seemed to unconsciously open for him when he prowled, Justin’s hand tightly held in his, to the dance-floor and he took his natural, rightful place at the center of it.

“He’s still the king of Babylon.” Michael slipped the words in his ear, something akin to awe and surprise, when Justin stepped back to the bar after a few songs.

“He never ceased to be, nor will he ever.” Justin replied, matter-of-factly, as he pushed Michael toward the place where his husband was swaying on the dancefloor, apparently unaware of the lust-filled gazes he kindled in the young, impressionable twinks around him.

He watched them dance and sway closely for a few songs before he accepted Emmet’s proposal of a spin around the floor. They joined in the fray laughing, their bodies taken over by the rhythm, Emmet’s arms high above them as he twirled like a ballerina, his smile wide and happy and so contagious Justin had to grin, had to share in his unbridled joy. He’d missed Emmet’s flamboyance, their shared silliness on the dancefloor, but most of all his uncomplicated friendship, his witty comebacks and wise life advices. He was happy they’d managed to keep in touch, because even if he had people in New York he could call friends, they were few, and none were the kind of deep, caring, and steady person Emmet was.

Justin felt his bones vibrate with the bass, and closed his eyes, limbs relaxed, as he shook his head to the rhythm and the freeing feeling of the music taking over his body. It had been a few weeks since he and Brian has gone dancing, and he relished the lightness of it. He could feel appreciative eyes on him, the press of bodies around, hands snaking around his waist for a few beats then releasing, and he smiled with the high of it all.

He couldn’t mistake Brian’s body for anybody else’s, though, when it fit behind him, nor his throaty voice at his ear.

“Enjoying yourself, Sunshine?”

He nodded as he turned around, his arms looping around Brian’s shoulders, his hand naturally finding its place at the nape of his neck, fingers touching the soft, sweaty hair there. He let the rhythm of the music slide them closer, their swaying limbs fitting effortlessly in place, his thigh moving on its own to find a cradle between Brian’s. Justin felt his lips open in a wide smile as they danced to the slow, dark beat, and he reveled in their height difference that made the glide of his lips on Brian’s neck and jaw such an instinctive, natural craving to indulge in.

He rubbed his body against Brian’s more purposefully, and he observed his eyes darken at the feel of his arousal.

“Immensely. What about you, stud, see anything that strikes your fancy?”

Brian tightened his grip on him and his dark, lustful eyes pierced him as he replied, “I do.”

Justin chuckled in joy. They were surrounded by a writhing mass of half-naked, toned, glistening bodies and Brian didn’t even seem to notice, his attention focused on Justin. But they were being observed, eyes were attracted to them. Justin knew very well the effect they had separately, and how that effect increased tenfold when they were together: how his fair skin and blond hair looked like beside Brian’s darker ones, how his small frame and Brian’s tall one contrasted beautifully, how their sexual chemistry translated for an on-looker and made them irresistible. They’d always attracted attention together, as if they had their own gravitational force pulling men to them.

It had been a long time since they’d played that game. Justin hadn’t tricked in the last few months, and to his knowledge nor had Brian. They’d been too busy, or simply too taken in their own lives and the one they had together to feel the need. But tonight, in this very special place in their history, Justin felt something rekindle within him. He felt in the mood to give in to the chase, and to hunt with Brian.

He leaned close to Brian’s ear to whisper “I thought more about some sort of appetizer,” he tilted his head toward the bodies around them, “before the gourmet meal”, he finished with a press of his hardening crotch on Brian’s.

Brian pulled his head back a bit to look at him appraisingly.

“My, my,” he chuckled, “you really are a conniving little shit.”

“Learnt with the best.” Justin winked.

Brian smiled smugly at that and kissed him deeply, locking their heads together with a firm hand behind Justin’s neck, until they had to breathe. With a wide grin, Justin turned around again in his arms, and started grinding his body slowly against Brian’s, his eyes on the men around them. He spotted a gorgeous brunet circling them, his gaze fixed on them, trailing their bodies. When Brian’s hand started caressing his chest pointedly, and his head cradled in his neck, he knew he too had noticed the trick. The brunet’s eyes widened slightly and he licked his lips under the combined force of their attention. Justin sent him his most obvious come-hither gaze, and the man was hooked.

The VIP room on the first floor didn’t exist anymore, so they made their way to the backroom, the trick in tow. It felt strange to be back in the dark lit space, but so familiar it was like putting on an old pair of jeans. Their entrance incited a sudden hush, all heads turning to stare at them.

“Hey, Brian, good to see you back, man!”, a slender man exclaimed from where he was pressed against a wall by a tall leather-daddy.  

“Hey, Todd, how’s it going?”, Brian replied without stopping.

They found a spot and made fast work of the brunet’s clothing, their hands clutching and pulling in coordinated motions. Justin saw Brian tilt his head with a frown when the trick tried to kiss him, and turn him around instead to pull his pants down. Justin settled on a ledge in the wall behind him, letting his legs open invitingly, as he saw Brian position himself behind the trick. At the man’s puzzled expression, he motioned to his crotch, an eyebrow raised.

_We’re the one calling the shots_ , was the silent command.

Arousal washed on the guy’s face, and he fumbled with Justin’s zipper as Brian perfunctorily prepped him. In perfect timing, Brian’s first, long push inside the brunet’s body matched his lips closing around Justin’s length, and he had to close his eyes for a second to savor the heat and the reverberation of the trick’s moan on his cock. As he finally looked up, it was to find Brian’s dark, aroused eyes on him.

_It won’t take long_ , he thought, as the sight of his husband’s perfect body pushing into the nameless hole, his attention fully on Justin, ignited a raging fire in his blood. At his look, Brian smiled devilishly, and with a grunt, slammed more forcefully into the trick, sending ravishing jolts through Justin’s length.

Justin moaned, and grabbed the trick’s head to plunge deeper in his mouth with a hand, while the other fumbled to find purchase on the brunet’s back. He felt Brian’s hand grab hold and pull his hand lightly until he was almost folded in half over the body between them, his cock pushing deeply into the guy’s throat. Never taking his eyes off his, Brian guided Justin’s fingers to where his cock was spearing the trick’s hole relentlessly. At the feel of it, Justin’s brain exploded in white light as his orgasm peaked. He barely registered the trick coming hard as he choked on Justin’s come, but his eyes never left Brian’s mesmerizing face as he grunted his release. _Go, he’s so hot._

Justin breathlessly leaned back on the wall as Brian pulled back and let the trick stand up, and he crooked a finger at him. Brian’s face relaxed into a contented smile, and he bowed his head to meet Justin’s mouth in a deep, greedy kiss.

They set their clothes straight and didn’t notice when the guy left, but Justin laughed when Brian’s arm tightened around his shoulder and he escorted him toward the exit with a low murmur in his ear: “Let’s go back home. I seem to recall you promising me a gourmet meal, and I intend to take my time enjoying it.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!

**Justin - Pittsburgh, early October, 2011.**

 

The next Saturday, when they made their way out of Linz and Mel’s new house, where they had surprised both a delighted Gus and a disgruntled Debbie over brunch, Justin managed to pry the Corvette’s keys out of Brian’s hands.

“Why would you ruin a good day by crashing my car?”, Brian whined.

“I won’t crash it, big baby. Besides, I’m a better driver than you.”

“Says who?” Raised eyebrow, outraged look.

“Says the Pittsburgh Police Department.” Justin replied pointedly, a thinly-veiled reminder of Brian’s numerous speeding tickets over the years, and raised his hand.

Brain let the keys fall in his open palm with a grumble.

“Scratch it - ”

“And you’ll have my balls, I know.”

Justin waited for Brian to settle in the passenger seat and let the V8 purr to life.

“Wake me up when we’re home. I’d rather sleep than hear you torture the clutch.” Brian said as he leaned back into the headrest and closed his eyes.

Justin smiled to himself. He’d hoped the combination of Deb’s carbs-filled dishes and Mel’s flowing booze would make Brian drowsy, and he hadn’t been mistaken.

“Whatever you say, _mon Amour_.’ He replied in a sing-song voice as he drove away from the curb.

The traffic was light in the early afternoon, and Justin drove silently, with intermittent glances to Brian’s relaxed features as he slumbered. As they passed the state’s limits, he felt apprehension fill his gut.

_What if I’ve been wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time I misread him._

He shook his head to disperse the negative thought. No need to fret anyways, he thought, he’d know soon enough. As they closed on to their destination, Justin made sure to drive a little more aggressively, letting the cars’ wheels hit a small bump on the road. The light jolt pulled Brian out of his nap as he grumbled.

 “Not a S.U.V., Justin, so please avoid… Justin?” he hesitated as he opened his eyes and took his surroundings in. “Where are you taking me, exactly?”

Justin smiled and sent him a glance.

“After that big reunion, I thought I’d kidnap you for the rest of the weekend.” He put his blinker and turned on the large driveway, “for a country gateway.”

“You know I hate the…” Brian’s voice died as recognition dawned on his face.

“I know you like this particular one.” Justin said as the house finally came into view.

It was just like his painting, the only difference the golden and red hues starting to tint the trees where they stood sentry on each side of the driveway.

The last short stretch of the drive was silent, and Justin cast a glance at Brian when he stopped the car, apprehension thick in his chest. Brian’s face was a blank, emotionless mask as his eyes fixed the house. The sudden silence when Justin cut the engine apparently spurred him as he hesitantly put his hand on the door-handle, inhaled sharply, and got out of the car.

When Justin did the same a second later, it was with a slow exhale. He stood where he was, beside the car, to observe his husband. Back tense and ramrod-straight, brow stormy, jaw flexing, a nervous tick at his temple. The gorgeous statue of a war God, Justin thought. In a break of the illusion, Brian turned suddenly to fix a black glare on Justin. His voice was hard and cold as ice.

“What the fuck is this, Justin? What are we doing here?”

Justin smiled hesitantly as he started walking around the car.

“I know you love this house, Brian-”

He was stopped in his track by Brian’s roar.

“What the fuck, Justin, I told you I couldn’t buy it!”

Justin recoiled at the outburst. Brian’s voice was thick with anger, but his eyes were shining with a myriad emotions Justin couldn’t discern.

“I’m not asking you to buy it-”

“You know I would if I could!” Brian interrupted agitatedly, opening his arms wide to make his point, “so there’s no need to try and convince me!”.

Brian started pacing like an encaged panther, his hand making its way to his face and rubbing his neck. His eyes were flaring, and Justin felt his temper rising. He couldn’t quite keep it out of his voice.

“What are you saying? I’m not trying to-”

“Then why are you rubbing this in my face? I just can’t, Justin, even if I tried I’m not a superhero, I’m not your fucking _Rage!_ ”

His voice had broken as he’d spat the name, and for a second his eyes had been almost haunted. Justin felt his anger pike as his legs moved on their own volition and brought him closer to Brian. _That’s enough._

“Brian! Will you shut the fuck up and let me finish a sentence for once?” he shouted.

Brian appeared shocked into silence, but his face closed stubbornly.

_So much for a romantic surprise._

Justin took a large breath to try and settle his nerves and his racing heart.

“Brian.” He managed in a calmer voice, “I didn’t drive you here to taunt you, or _rub whatever_ in your face, and even less so to force your hand into anything.”

The man looked at him with somber eyes, doubt etched in his features.

“I _didn’t_. I know what you told me, and I would never be so cruel as to torment you with something you want but cannot have. I know you’re not _Rage_ , Brian, and I never asked you to be.”

Hurt shot through Brian’s eyes. His whole attitude broadcasted wariness, guardedness, and his walls were as high as Justin had ever seen them. He stepped closer, slowly, but did not touch his husband’s tense body.

“I know you love this house. It took me some time, but I know what it meant to you, and the plans you had for it,” Justin tried to contain the emotions creeping in his voice, “for _us_.”   

He paused, and saw Brian’s face crumple slightly, a flicker of regret? melancholy? In his eyes. He closed the distance between them and took his hand. He made his eyes meet Brian’s.

_Please accept this._

“That’s why I bought it for you.”

 Brian froze. His eyes widened. A beat.

“You… what.” A near whisper, low and throaty.

Justin forced a smile on his face.

“I bought it for you.”

Brian’s eyes searched Justin’s. He turned his head slightly to glance at the house, then back at Justin. He passed his hand nervously on his face, his eyes closing for an instant and reopening to bear into Justin’s.

“You bought-” he started, exhaled sharply, inhaled, then louder, “you brought this house for _me_.”

 “Yes. Or, more precisely, for us.” Justin said. He felt his smile falter.

Something appeared in Brian’s face, a brewing storm.

“Why, Justin?” he said in agitation, again, “And how? And please don’t tell me you’ve put yourself into debt for a _fucking house_ , I don’t need charity or-” 

“Brian! Stop!” Justin brought his face to Brian’s face, “calm down. Look at me.”

Surprisingly, the man complied.

“Now, listen to me,” he said as his brought his second hand up to frame Brian’s face and pulled it down to plant his eyes in his, “are you listening?”

Brian almost chuckled at that, and his body relaxed under Justin’s touch.

“Stop stealing my lines, Sunshine.”

“Well, stop being a stupid little twat.” Justin chided back.

Brian made a face, but replied, “I’m listening.”

“I’m a promising young artist who’s finally made a name for himself in New York City and whose reputation is growing. My work is being exposed and sold countrywide.”

Brian nodded, pride clear in his eyes, so Justin continued.

“I’m also a man afflicted first with a lover, then with a partner, and eventually with a husband who for the past _eleven years_ ”, he insisted on the words, “has always supported me, financially and otherwise and who in return has never, _ever_ , let me contribute a fair share-”

“I let you pay-”

“Shut up and let me talk. You’ve always supported me. Was it charity?” Brian shook his head slightly between his hands, and opened his mouth, outrage in his eyes, but Justin cut him, “Shh. You never accepted my tuition money back-”

“I couldn’t-” 

“I said _listen_. Anyways, it’s not only about money. You were there for me from the start, Brian,” a raised eyebrow, “in your own way. You took me in, you stood up to my father, you fucking _saved my life_ ,” he stopped Brian’s denial with a finger on his lips, “and you pushed me to become the best I could. And I did.”

An array of emotions was fleeting on Brian’s face. He tried to open his mouth to speak but Justin didn’t let him.

“My point is, Brian, you’ve spent the past _eleven years_ taking care of me in any way you could, even when I didn’t see it; and not only me, but everyone around us. I know you’re way too proud to expect or even want any thank you, ” a scowl, “ so this is not a thank you. It’s just my way to invest in you, just as you’ve invested in me.”

Brian’s eyes cleared, and a slow, almost amused smile appeared on his lips.

“I’m a high-risk investment, Sunshine.” He said as he wrapped his arm around Justin’s waist and brought him against his chest. “And you never know if the returns will be worth it.”

That last part was murmured at Justin’s temple, and he could hear a thickness in Brian’s voice.

“You’re already worth any risk, Brian.” He murmured back. He felt the hitch in Brian’s breath, and the tightening of his arms around him.

They stayed silent in the embrace for an instant before Brian spoke again.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” he chuckled wetly in his ear before leaning back to look straight into Justin’s eyes. His own were suspiciously shiny, but he had a bright smile on his face.

Justin felt his own smile erupt on his face, and they stayed like that, locked into each other’s happy, smiling eyes, before Brian’s turned serious.

“I love you.” He stated, earnest, and brought Justin’s lips to his for a long, deep kiss full of unspoken passion.

When they parted, breathless, their foreheads touching, Justin felt so giddy with joy and love that he couldn’t help himself.

“I know.” He said cheekily.

“Brat.” A butt slap.

“Old man.” A tickle at the waist.

Justin took off to escape retaliation and managed to open the door before Brian could grab him. He dashed madly inside, shrieking in laughter as Brian shouted, “I’ll show you old!” mirthfully, close behind him. When Brian finally pounced on him, somewhere between the kitchen and the stairs, they enthusiastically got started on the christening of each and every room of the mansion. For the second, and final, time.

 

***

 

_i do not want to have you_

_to fill the empty parts of me_

_i want to be full on my own_

_i want to be so complete_

_i could light a whole city_

_and then_

_i want to have you_

_cause the two of_

_us combined_

_could set it_

_on fire_

_-rupi kaur_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, for now. I still have ideas for snippets of their lives during or after this, images that popped in my mind as I was writing this and that I jotted down for further consideration, but for now, I'll leave this here. Time to return to real-life in order to tackle what I put on the back-burner for the past three weeks, while this fic was eating my brain.

**Author's Note:**

> Points of views, locations and times will switch in the next chapters. They'll be made clear at the top. When no time stamp is mentioned, assume the chapter is a direct continuation from the previous one.


End file.
